


Killian's Curse

by tellmesomethinglove



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-17 06:18:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 40,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3518603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tellmesomethinglove/pseuds/tellmesomethinglove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three years after Heroes and Villains, Killian and Emma have their first child-but something goes wrong. Killian is forced into a role he'd never imagined: single father. But this is Storybrooke, and not everything is as it seems.  Seven years after the loss of his True Love, evidence surfaces to suggest that what happened at the hospital that fateful day may have been part of a sinister plot.  But will Killian believe his daughter's insistence that Emma is alive, or will he risk losing her all over again?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

There was no rush of wind.

No sudden pulse of power swept across the land.

This was no curse.

It was bloody damnation.

—

_The doors opened without persuasion as he breached the threshold, his steps hurried, his breathing labored, his voice scarcely distinguishable above the pounding rhythm of his heart. The stack of parchment slipped from the nurse's hold when he grasped her arm, when he begged her assistance._

_"_ _Please, my wife—she's gone into labor—"_

_"_ _Sir—"_

_"_ _The baby, she's early—it wasn't meant to be this soon. Please, you must help her."_

_The nurse, a woman with every appearance of sharing his physical age, set her mouth in a patient line while unlocking his iron grip._

_"_ _Sir, where is your wife?"_

_He turned quick circles, his eyes conducting a frantic search. There, at the entrance, just inside the automated doors, she walked slowly (she forbade him from referring to her gestational gait by its actually name—_ "Compare me to a duck. One. More. Time.") _, one hand at her back, the other clutching her stomach._

_"_ _Emma!"_

_He nearly trampled an elderly couple and their spotted dog to the ground in his rush to meet her._

_She accepted his proffered hand with a calm smile. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you forgot about me."_

_"_ _Emma, Love, I'm so sorry."_

_"_ _Would you relax?" She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "You'd think the world was ending. And last I checked, that hasn't been the case since—hey," she must have read the panic in his eyes; removing the hand from her stomach, she cradled his cheek, brushing her thumb along his scar, "don't do that. Don't get lost in all the possible ways this could go wrong. We're going to meet our kid today."_

_He exhaled a shaky breath. "And that doesn't terrify you?"_

_Emma's smile only grew. As it did, the anxiety was lifted like a weight from Killian's shoulders. "Not this time."_

—

His lips trembled as he pulled away, his tears lending no life to her skin, devoid of warmth. He caressed her layered tresses, a paler shade of gold. The words he'd come here to say failed to form—neither his heart nor his tongue could bear them.

The door opened behind him, casting a narrow shaft of light across her ivory dress.

"Killian?" Came the voice of her father, the uncharacteristic timidity of which matched his approaching steps. "Everyone's waiting."

"Let them bloody wait."

He didn't recoil when David rested a hand on his shoulder, heavy with the weight of understanding. "What happened isn't your fault."

Killian gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to growl at his father-in-law like some feral beast.

"I know how I would feel if it were Mary Margaret, but you can't blame yourself."

"Who shall I blame, then?" Killian turned on him, wrenching free of his consolatory grasp. "The child who took her from me?"

"Consider what Emma would want."

"I doubt she bloody well wanted to die."

Several long minutes later, David broke the silence that'd enveloped them. "Will you die with her, and make your child an orphan?"

—

_One last scream, a flicker of light, a final push, and Emma's head fell back, her crushing grip relaxed, and the feeling returned to Killian's hand. The cry of a child—their child—filled the room, and for a few short moments, all was right in the world. More than right—it was everything he'd been afraid to hope for. Time slowed to a near stop—Killian's heart didn't know whether to skip or multiply its beats—when he looked upon the most beautiful creature he'd ever beheld. The perfect blend of both her parents—Killian's dark hair, Emma's delicate features. Her eyes squeezed tightly shut as she continued to wail, but he'd bet anything they were the perfect shade of green—_

_The machines came to life; bodies pushed past him, forming a barricade that commanded his wife to wake._

_She didn't._

_They lowered her bed until she lay flat, opened her eyes, repeated her name, called for devices foreign to him—this realm's answer to animation spells._

_"_ _Emma?" Killian forged a path through the amassing medical personnel, to her side. "Love, can you hear me?"_

_They pulled at his arms, linked their own around his torso. "Sir, you can't—"_

_"_ _Swan? Swan! Emma, wake up—"_

_They called more men to restrain him, but he fought his way back to her, touching her hand before he felt the pinch in his neck._

—

He stroked soft circles along the back of her hand. He couldn't force himself from her side, though it broke him beyond measure to see her this way.

Leaving meant accepting, and he didn't think he ever could.

Leaving meant turning around, following David out that door, and continuing on. Without her.

Leaving meant saying goodbye.

With a final kiss, absent of magic, empty of hope—he'd never wished for a curse so earnestly in all his centuries—he whispered, "Until the next life, my love," and walked away.


	2. Chapter 2

_Reaching across the memory foam mattress, he found nothing but empty space, the covers piled in a heap at the opposite side of the bed._

Well that accounts for the draft.

_Killian opened one eye and squinted into the early morning sun filtering into the room. Peering at the clock in time to see the digits change from 8:14 to 8:15, he groaned._

_His call was muffled by the pillow in which he'd buried his face, "Swan?"_

_No answer._

_He rolled onto his back. "Why the blazes are you awake at this ungodly hour on a Sunday?"_

_Still nothing._

_"_ _I was thinking, with Henry at Regina's until tomorrow," Killian tousled his hair as he stretched, feeling every bit his three hundred years with each muscle that protested, "perhaps today would be the perfect opportunity to reenact our second date." He ambled toward the lavatory (_ "Bathroom, Killian. It's called a bathroom.") _, yawning as he went. "Our actual second date, not that catastrophe with the wall of ice—"_

_He stopped in his tracks when the object of his search appeared at the threshold, her face flush with terror._

_"_ _Emma, wh—"_

_"_ _Killian, something's wrong."_

He woke with a gasp, his body nearly tumbling from the bed as he bolted upright. After a quick survey of his surroundings, he closed his eyes, fell back against the mattress. He ran his hand along his face, forcing deep breaths. It was an instinct to turn his attention to the clock at his bedside table, but such a reflex was no longer necessary—no matter how haunted his dreams, or his effort to break free of them, he awoke at the same time every day.

The smell of bacon wafted into his room, mingled with sounds of life coming from the kitchen. Voices rising above the clamor of running water and shuffling feet.

With a low growl, Killian threw back the covers, scarcely disturbed throughout the night, despite the memories that'd preyed upon his sleeping form.

He came upon them as quietly as he could, but Beth spotted him before he cleared the corridor and immediately abandoned her countertop perch, cutting through the crowd, and bounding straight for him. "Daddy!"

Killian took her up in his arms. "Good morning, Love."

Linking her limbs around his neck, she embraced him with all her might. Killian kissed her cheek before setting her back on her feet.

"Grandpa's making pancakes."

"I gathered." Killian nodded his acknowledgement to David, who stood over a cluttered stove with a hand towel draped over one shoulder, which Mary Margaret removed to dry the dishes she'd just washed.

"Thought you'd sleep in," she said with a light smile.

"Dad never sleeps in," remarked the seven year old at Killian's side. "Says morning reminds him of Mom."

Killian grinned. "Aye. That it does. So much for keeping secrets, eh?" He poked his daughter in the shoulder, eliciting a giggle. The sympathetic expressions that ensued thereafter had Killian clearing his throat. "So, pancakes?"

Mary Margaret was the first to move. She filled a plate with all the necessary sides and set it at the table. "You're lucky there's anything left, with these two. Henry's on his third helping."

"You're home early, Lad," said Killian, mussing the boy's hair as he took a seat across from Neal, who was presently engrossed in his handheld electronic device. The youngest among them pushed her chair so close to her father's as to practically be seated in his lap. "How's University?"

Henry shrugged. "Cold."

"If only you'd had some kind of warning," said David over his shoulder.

Henry rolled his eyes before stabbing at the last few bites of his meal. "Yeah, yeah. _I_ wanted an overseas school, _I_ wanted to leave home, _I_ brought this on myself." Lowering his voice, he said to Killian, "You _chose_ to live here?"

"It seemed a good idea at the time."

"I heard that," said David.

Mary Margaret patted her husband's back. "Shouldn't you be getting dressed?"

David looked at the clock and swore under his breath.

"You owe me a dollar!" Said Beth. Remembering her presence had David swearing a second time. "That's two!"

"Grandma's right, I should get dressed." Turning to Killian, he said, "Unless you want to be late, I suggest you do the same."

Killian stood, cleared his plate, and turned back to Beth. "Best behavior for Grandma, hm?"

"Always." She beamed up at him. "Honestly, Daddy, what do you take me for?"

Killian arched his brow, catching the mischief in Beth's eyes. It was the sort of gleam her mother got whenever she was up to something.

"I'll be calling to check in."

Beth sighed, her shoulders slumping dramatically. "No trust."

"Trust is earned, Love. After the incident last month, it'll be a long haul for you."

"It was only a small fire," she whined. "His eyebrows grew back!"

Neal looked up from his device, silencing her with a scowl.

"Just…try not to break anything."

—

Freshly showered, Killian fell into bed. To say it'd been a long day would've been an understatement. After Beth was born, it'd seemed only right that Killian should take David's place at the station, while he filled the position left by his daughter, but now…

Now Killian was beginning to feel too many of his prolonged years.

_"_ _What're you, like three hundred?"_

"Dad?"

He sat up despite the ache in his back. Beth stood in the doorway, frowning.

"What's troubling you, Love?"

"I can't sleep," she said. "Could you tell me a story?"

Killian patted the mattress and Beth's face lit up with her bright smile as she crawled in beside him.

"What shall it be tonight?"

Beth's face scrunched up, contemplating. "The first time you met Mom."

"That is a good story, though I didn't always know it."

"She only left you 'cause she liked you."

"I know that now, don't I?" Killian smirked at his little girl. Emma's face stared back at him, wearing his dark hair. "At the time, it was quite the underhanded move. Had a bit of a duplicitous side, your mum. One of her best qualities."

Beth smiled. "You think all her qualities are the best."

"You've got me there, Love."

The child's frown returned as she was overtaken by silence that lasted a full minute. Killian watched her, waiting for her to continue her questioning—he couldn't remember a time she'd stopped at just one. When she spoke again, his heart sank at her words.

"Do you think she would've liked me?"

"She would've loved you." Killian put his arm around Beth and pulled her close. "There is very powerful magic in our family, and your mother's was the most powerful of all. They called her the Product of True Love, and that's what she passed on to you. You are everything she hoped for and couldn't possibly imagine."

Beth arched the infernal brow she'd inherited from him.

"Don't believe me? Just ask your brother, or your grandparents—as anyone who knew her. A prouder mum you'd be hard-pressed to find in this or any realm."

"When did you know you loved her?"

"I guess I knew from the start. But I didn't know I knew until she kissed me."

"Gross."

Killian nudged her with his arm. "How do you suppose you got here, eh?"

"Magic?"

"Speaking of, how were your lessons?"

Beth sat up straight, the light returned to her green eyes. "I turned Roland into a toad."

Killian's good humor vanished. "You did what?"

"Regina couldn't undo it so she called Henry's grandpa. Then she wrote me a check for the swear jar."

"Bloody hell."

"Ah!" Beth pointed her finger at him. "I'm telling Grandpa you owe me a dollar." She scampered off the bed and out the door.

"Hey!" Killian called after her. "It was a slip of the tongue! I didn't—bollocks."

"Two dollars!"

"How the blazes did you hear that?"

"Three!"

Killian grunted to himself as he got up to follow her. Fewer things gave David as great a thrill as knowing his son-in-law had made a larger arse of himself than Grandpa. But as he trudged past the lavatory ( _"Killian…"_ ), he was brought to a halt by the sound of banging. Subtle at first, but growing steadily stronger. It seemed to be emanating from behind the mirror, which was made more curious by the fact that the wall on which it hung wasn't a shared one—no rooms existed beyond it. Indeed, there was nothing but a two-story drop to the side yard. When Killian drew near for closer inspection, the sound stopped, and all that greeted him was his own reflection.

Physically, he'd seen better days. Streaks of gray, understated but present nonetheless, had taken root in his hair. Dark circles lined his eyes—not the work of his own hand, as would've been the case seven years prior. Age was catching up with him.

_Could be worse,_ he mused, _I could look like Dave._

Killian sighed, immediately regretting his quip at David's expense, unspoken though it was. He couldn't fathom even the possibility of losing his daughter, as David and Mary Margaret had done how many times, now?

Henry was another matter, entirely. Having lost his own mother early in his youth, Killian consoled the lad as well as eh could, considering. Henry had stopped reading fairytales, stopped believing in Happily Ever After. Even magic became a sensitive subject. Suffice it to say, Storybrooke wasn't conducive to the boy's recovery. When opportunity presented itself—short seconds after he'd graduated high school, it seemed—Henry left. Separation was good for him, Killian knew—they all knew. He came home during the summer months, and when the university was on holiday, and the change was visible. He was less weighed down, less burdened by grief and constant reminders.

It would've broken his mother's heart to see him so forlorn.

Killian turned on the tap, rinsed his face with water. And the rhythm began again, soft but growing, until the mirror trembled. When Killian reached forward to touch it, the glass shattered.

He didn't have time to react, as at that precise moment, a soul-crushing scream erupted from the living room. Recognizing it as belonging to Beth, Killian ran.

She stood with her hands over her ears, eyes closed, giving no heed to David's ministrations. Henry, too, attempted to break the child of her hysteria, to no avail.

Killian kneeled beside her, wrapped her in an embrace, cradled her head in his hand.

Sensing it was him, she melted into his arms. "You couldn't hear me—I called you, but you couldn't—"

"Shh," Killian stroked her hair, forcing every ounce of calm he could muster into his voice, "it's all right. You're safe."

He looked to David and then to Henry with a question in his eyes. Both shook their heads.

—

_There had to be another option. Regina? The Blue Fairy? Any number of magical beings that traipsed in and out of town wreaking havoc? As far as Killian was concerned, calling on the Crocodile was a last resort._

_Emma took his hand, entwining their fingers, when she got out of the car. She'd been getting progressively worse over the past weeks, and looking at her now, nearly all the pigment had drained from her face. She smiled despite the weakness eating away at her, still distressed over the thought of Killian worrying._

Blood maddening lass.

_Gods forbid she worry about herself, for once._

_"_ _It'll be okay," she said. "He's changed."_

_"_ _So everyone keeps saying."_

_Killian would reserve judgment on the Crocodile's redemption until provided with sound proof. Smiling past his instincts, Killian aided his wife in entering the pawn shop._

_—_

_The sodding imp had the audacity to sigh. "During my days as the Dark One, scarce was the occasion when I was consulted on matters this trivial."_

_"_ _You call death trivial?" Asked Killian, working to temper his rage and failing._

_"_ _Well aren't we the pessimistic reprobate?" Quipped the Crocodile. "Death, as I'm sure you're well aware, is quite serious. Your wife is as far from its clutches as one can get—indeed, she carries the most powerful Product of True Love since, well, herself." Grinning, he turned to Emma. "Congratulations."_

_"_ _She's pregnant?"_

_"_ _No." Emma shook her head, leaning on the counter that encased collectibles, many of which, while not of the same caliber as Regina's relics, bore traces of dark magic. "It wasn't like this with Henry—this is something else. I feel like something is sucking my life force."_

_"_ _I'm curious as to what you think it is children do, Miss Swan."_

_Emma rolled her eyes, opting to ignore the Crocodile's blatant mistake. Were she at her normal strength, she might've returned with, "It's Jones, and you know it. Now cut the bullshit," as had been her practice in the past._

_"_ _It sure as hell isn't this. Tell me what we're dealing with so I can remedy it, or kill it, or…" Emma closed her eyes, inhaling air through her teeth and bending at the waist._

_"_ _Do something," Killian commanded. "Can't you see she's suffering?"_

_The Crocodile crossed to the back of his shop and disappeared. Hardly anything to lament during the average day, his absence now felt eternal. When he rejoined them, he carried a small wooden chest in his hands._

_He removed one of its vials and handed it to Emma. "Drink this."_

_She eyed the ampule with suspicion before following his instruction, swallowing back the elixir with a sour expression._

_The result was instantaneous—Emma stood straight, the glow of vitality returned to her skin. Confused, she turned to the imp, who was well pleased with himself._

_"_ _It seems my work here is done." He closed the lid on his box of potions. "If you find yourselves in want of a midwife, feel free to look elsewhere."_

_"_ _Wait a minute," said Emma. "What the hell was that?"_

_"_ _Perhaps you should reference that time-tested lie detector of yours. Seems a point of pride for you."_

_"_ _Seriously?"_

_"_ _Whether you're willing to accept it or not, Miss Swan, what I've told you is the truth. In a few months' time, the princess and the pirate," he gestured to each in turn, "shall be the proud parents of a_ charming _little girl. Just what the world needs."_

_"_ _What was that potion you gave her?" Asked Killian._

_"_ _Miss Swan was right—essentially, the child is, now how did you phrase it?_ Sucking _her life force. The Product of True Love, twice over—even the Dark One's powers would pale in comparison. What I've just given her should ensure her survival during the pregnancy."_

_"_ _And after?"_

_"_ _That…" the Crocodile paused, his face creasing with a wicked grin, "…is up to fate, now, isn't it?"_

His body was heavier than usual. Moving his arm, he felt the child that weighed him down, and the storybook she'd insisted would help her sleep lying open on his stomach. Killian smiled. No nightmare could rattle him when he woke up next to his favorite person in all the worlds. He maneuvered his way to freedom without disturbing her peaceful slumber, and set her book aside.

She'd wanted to hear the story of his travels to the past, never tiring of that particular tale—nor _Peter Pan_ , to be sure. She'd pester Killian with questions regarding the boy who never grew old ( _"Is that true? Did that really happen? Did you really say that? Dad, were you a villain?" Killian smiled and said, "Depends who you ask."_ )

_"_ _And the whole time, Grandma and Grandpa didn't know it was you?"_

_"_ _They hadn't met us yet, hadn't met each other."_

_Beth turned the page to the portrait of him and Emma dancing at King Midas' castle. "Is that when Mom started to love you back?"_

_Smirking, Killian answered, "You know, she once told me she was incapable of pinpointing a specific moment. That it was the sum of all our adventures together. One day, she realized it had been there, in some degree, from the beginning. She just needed time to catch up."_

_When Beth didn't respond, Killian looked at her in time to watch a tear trail down her cheek. "What's this?"_

_Beth snuggled closer to him, laying her head on Killian's chest. "Is it possible to miss someone you've never met?"_

_"_ _I think it's entirely possible."_

_Beth fell silent as Killian ran his hand in soothing motions along her arm. It wasn't long before he felt something dampening his shirt. "I miss Mom."_

_"_ _As do I, Love."_

Shards of glass littered the bathroom floor ( _"Ah, so you_ can _learn."_ ). Killian knelt carefully at their perimeter and began gathering them into the rubbish bin. One shard caught his attention and he blinked several times to rule out hallucination. What should have reflected ceiling tile or bathroom cabinet cast the image of two eyes, green as emeralds, looking out from their glass confine.

_Curious._

If Killian didn't know better, he'd say they belonged to—

The edge sliced the tip of his thumb and he recoiled. "Fu—"

"Dad?"

"—dge mint." He turned toward the entrance, where Beth regarded him with a strange stare. "I'm thinking ice cream for breakfast—what say my first mate?"

"What happened?"

"I uh…lost my balance. Knocked the mirror clean off the wall."

Beth narrowed her eyes, studying him. "What _really_ happened?"

She _had_ to inherit that damned lie detector.

"It just…shattered. Last night."

The child's expression turned grave, her eyes wide with surprise.

"What is it, Love?"

"Nothing," she said quickly. "Henry's taking me to Regina's soon, so…"

With that, she was out the door, leaving Killian to wonder if there was a trait of Emma's she _wouldn't_ develop.


	3. Chapter 3

“Hey, Em.  You ready?”

Beth pasted on a stiff smile and walked past him, to the front door.  “Mhm.  Let’s go.”

“All right, bye, Grandpa.”  Henry called over his shoulder.  “I’ll have her back in a few hours.”

Beth was halfway down the stairwell when her brother caught up with her.  “Whoa, slow down, Em.  What’s the rush?”

“Nothing.  I’m just eager to get started with my lessons.”

“O…kay?”  He adjusted the strap of his book bag as he struggled to keep up.  “Did you want to stop in at Granny’s for French Toast?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“All right, munchkin, hold up.”  He came to a full stop, pulling Beth back by the arm.  “What’s up with you?  Since when do you pass up Granny’s French Toast?  And skipping out without so much as glancing at Gramps or anyone else?  Does your dad even know you left?”

Beth sighed, avoiding Henry’s all-knowing gaze—something he apparently shared with their mother.  “Promise you won’t think I’m crazy?”

“Pinky swear.”  Henry extended his hand, holding out the appropriate digit.

With a slight roll of her eyes, Beth wrapped her littlest finger around his.  Honestly, when was he going to accept that she was much too grown-up for such things?  All the world saw her as some poor motherless child who didn’t know her arse from her elbow, as her dad was prone to say when he thought she couldn’t hear.

She’d have to remember to put a dollar in the swear jar when she returned home.

“Last night, when I…when I—”

“Wouldn’t stop screaming.”  Henry finished for her.

“Right.”  She fidgeted with the hem of her pea coat, tugging at a stray thread.  “I had sort of a…vision.”

“Of?”

So far so good—his eyes hadn’t glossed over yet.  He hadn’t heaved an exasperated sigh.  And his eyes remained firmly locked on her and not the sky.  She should’ve known, if there was one person who would always believe her, it was her big brother.

“Well, that part’s a bit strange.”

“Stranger than a seven year old having visions?”

The sarcasm, she’d been told as well, was an inherent Emma trait.  Opting to ignore it, she continued on with her tale.

_She rounded the corner, entering the living room from the hallway that led to her dad’s room at the back of the apartment—part of several additions made to accommodate their ever-growing family tree—only to find upon arriving that there was a door where the kitchen should have been.  It shimmered like rubies, glowing brighter as she neared.  When she reached for the handle, the gems disappeared, replaced by transparent glass.  On the other side, she saw her father, and she waved._

_His eyes were empty, unseeing, and he regarded the glass as though picking apart his own reflection._

_“Daddy?”  She knocked but received no answer._

_A low chuckle sounded behind her.  Turning, she was surrounded by walls, each made from the same transparent glass, each displaying a different scene, each a face she recognized.  Grandpa David and Henry and Uncle Neal—_

_“Daddy!”  She pounded on the glass.  “Help me!  Daddy, I’m trapped, I can’t—”_

_That same chuckle echoed in her ears, loud as thunder, with a voice to match, “You’re a long way from home, princess.”_

_Terror rose in her throat, escaping in a scream that shattered her glass prison._

“Is that it?”

Beth shook her head.  “This morning, I walked in on Dad in the bathroom.”

“Uh, Em—”

“He was cleaning up broken glass, from the mirror.”

“Oh.”

“He said it just shattered.”

Henry’s expression was a mixture of consideration and concern.  Like when she asked her dad if she could watch _Peter Pan_.

_“I like it when you call yourself a codfish.”_

_“I’ve not uttered that word a day in my life.”  He glanced at her from the corner of his eye.  “Okay, maybe once—twice, at most.  And never in such a grossly flamboyant manner.”_

_“It’s just a cartoon, Daddy.”_

“Was there anything else?”  Henry asked.

“I knew someone was coming for me, and that they were going to hurt me because I’d disobeyed.”

“Disobeyed?”

“I can’t explain it—I just _knew_.  And I…Okay, this is where the crazy comes in.”

“We haven’t reached crazy?”

Beth bit her bottom lip, afraid to tell him the rest.  But if she couldn’t tell Henry, who could she tell?  “It was like it wasn’t me.”

Henry remained quiet, waiting for further explanation.

“It was like I was seeing through someone else’s eyes.  Someone who’s trapped…who has maybe been trapped for a long time…”

“Em…?”  He said slowly, as though he followed her train of thought but was hoping to be proved wrong.

“I think it was Mom.”

 

—

 

They waited without speaking, Beth tugging the same loose thread, Henry’s expression unreadable.

“I see.”  Regina gave a tight-lipped smile as she smoothed down her pencil skirt.  “And what does your father have to say about all this?”

Beth averted her eyes.

“She doesn’t want to upset him,” Henry interjected on Beth’s behalf, “if it turns out her theory is just that.”

“He’d be too stubborn to even listen.”  Said Beth.

“I’d say that’s appropriate.”  Said Regina.  “What is it you expect me to tell you, dear?  That your mother’s alive and living as the hostage of some evil sorcerer?”

“Sorceress.”

“Excuse me?”

“It was a woman’s voice.”

“Gender notwithstanding,” said Regina, “You need to understand the gravity of what you’re asking.”

Beth frowned as a queasy sort of feeling entered her stomach.  “My dad told me stories about you.”

Regina’s posture went rigid; she opened her mouth to respond, but Beth cut off what was sure to be a protest—insistence that she wasn’t the person she once was, no matter what Beth’s pirate father said ( _“I’d consider the source on that particular philosophical gem.”_ ).

“He said that no matter what overwhelming odds you came up against, you never gave up.  He said that when Henry was in danger, you moved heaven and hell to save him.  Can’t you understand why I have to know?  What if I’m right and she’s trapped somewhere and I’m her only hope?  What if it were Henry or Uncle Robin or—”

“Okay, dear, settle down.”  Regina held up her hands.  “You’ve sufficiently tugged at my heartstrings.”

Beth bit back a small smile.  “So you’ll help?”

Regina looked at Henry as though pleading for him to talk her out of it.  When he didn’t, she sighed.  “It would appear so.”

 

—

 

“Are you sure about this?”  Henry asked as Regina led the way down the spooky staircase to her vault.

“At this point,” Regina brushed the dirt from her palms, walking deeper inside the crypt, “the only thing I’m sure about is that we’ll see a resurgence of Captain Hook if he finds out we’ve gone behind his back, and for what purpose.”

Beth swallowed thickly.  He was going to kill her.  And then Regina.  And then her again.

“Not if we succeed.”  Said Henry, trying his best to be encouraging.

Regina stopped before a large object covered by a white sheet that, like everything else in the dank space, had collected a healthy layer of dust.  “Succeed at what, exactly?  If we’re right, Emma’s been held prisoner for the past seven years, while the rest of us have gone on with our lives as though…” her words trailed off as she looked to Henry and then Beth.  She cleared her throat, kneeling in front of the child.  “Whatever happens, we’ll find a way to make it right.  You have my word.”  Beth nodded, and Regina patted her knee before returning to the mystery object.  “Henry, if you would.”  At her gesture, Henry moved to the opposite end and aided her in removing the linen.

“It’s a mirror.”

The largest Beth had ever seen.  It spanned from the floor all the way to the ceiling, and half the width of the room.  The frame was nothing special—Beth was certain she’d seen more elaborate designs on the shelves at the market.  The mirror itself was like any old looking glass.

“It was once used as a portal between worlds.  I just hope there’s enough residual magic for what we need.”

“Which is?”  Asked Henry.  “You know, Mom, you haven’t exactly clued us in to the plan.”

“First, I need more details regarding this…vision.”  Turning to Beth, she asked, “What were you doing immediately prior to your change in surroundings?”

“I’d just come from my dad’s room.”  She looked to Henry, uncertain.  He gave her a reassuring smile.  “We were talking about Mom, about how they first met, and…” Her gaze moved to Regina.

“Go on, dear, you’re doing fine.”

“I asked him if he thought she’d like me.”  The look Henry and Regina shared wasn’t lost on her, nor were the traces of pity in their eyes.  Moving right past it, she continued, “He told me about her being the Product of True Love, and what that meant for me and my magic.”

“How did this conversation make you feel?”  Asked Regina.

“I don’t know.”  She shrugged, wishing there was some place to hide.  This whole thing had been her idea, but suddenly her own emotions were overwhelming.  Sensing her discomfort, Henry took her hand.  “I felt like I always do when we talk about Mom—like I wish I could’ve known her.  All I have are stories from everyone, and pictures, and Henry’s videos, but…” she hid her gaze amidst the floor, turning the toes of her boots inward toward each other.

“It isn’t enough.”

Beth shook her head, wiped an errant tear away with her sleeve.

Regina tucked a gentle hand under the child’s chin, persuading her to look up.  In doing so, she was surprised by the expression clouding Regina’s expression.  No words could’ve adequately conveyed as much understanding.

“What do you think, Mom?”

With a deep breath, Regina stepped away, arriving once again at the mirror, “I think that in order to replicate the events of last night, we have to elicit a specific emotional response, the same one that triggered the first vision.”

“Make her sad.”

Regina’s voice took on a tone of regret.  “I’m afraid so.  Stand here, please, Elizabeth.”

Beth did as she was instructed, occupying the space to Regina’s right, directly in front of the mirror.

“How do we accomplish that?”  Asked Henry.

“By talking about Emma.”

Henry tensed at the suggestion, but complied nonetheless.  “Where do we start?”

“Anywhere, I suppose.”

“Okay, um…” Henry ran his hands in a downward motion along his jeans, as though drying them, “…as you know, Emma didn’t always believe in magic or fairytales—she sure as hell didn’t believe in True Love.”  His demeanor softened with a slight smile.  “She was more stubborn than Killian, if you can believe that.”

Beth smiled despite the ache in her heart.

Henry glanced at Regina, who signaled for him to continue.

“I think deep down, she was afraid to want these things, because if she let herself believe in the impossible, it would have the power to hurt her.”

A second tear fell, unbidden, when Beth closed her eyes.

“For someone so guarded, she had the brightest smile of anyone I know.  When she found out about you, I don’t think she stopped for months on end.”  Henry laughed.  “She couldn’t wait to meet you.”

A surge of power rippled below the surface of Beth’s skin, stemming from that place deep inside, erupting from her fingertips and springing forward.  Tremors shook the earth, bright flashes of light enveloped her, and she opened her eyes.

To the astonishment of all, the looking glass undulated, swelling like vengeful waves, outward from its centermost point toward the gilded frame, its reflective surface turned transparent.

Regina gasped and Beth choked back a sob as Henry whispered, “Mom?”


	4. Chapter 4

“Mom, you’re alive.”

Every story, every video Henry played for her during nights she couldn’t sleep for dreaming about their mother, every photograph she’d ever seen of the woman too beautiful to be real came to life before Beth’s eyes.

“Yeah, kid.”  She spoke with a tremulous tone as her hand reached up to touch the glass—what seemed only a thin barrier between them but was much more magically complicated.  “You’re all grown up.”

“How is this even possible?”  Asked Regina.  “Did you take a wrong turn at Purgatory?”

Emma went to respond when her gaze settled on Beth, and the unshed tears brimming behind her lashes spilled over the edge.  “Is that…?”  She whispered reverently.

Her dad had waited until she was old enough to tell her how her mom had died, and in the years since, Beth had imagined a thousand things she’d say to the woman who’d borne her, if, by some miracle, she was given the chance.

_What’s your favorite color, song, smell—your favorite place to visit when you’re sad?_

_”Red, Unchained Melody, rum, vanilla, or cinnamon, dependent upon her mood—and the sea.  Nothing soothed her weary soul quite like the sound of crashing waves against the shore.”_

These were the answers her dad had given her.  But it wasn’t the same.  Just once, she wanted to have a conversation about her mom _with_ her mom—answers that weren’t tainted by another person’s sentimentality.

Most of all, she wanted to say, “I’m sorry.”

None of these phrases made themselves readily available at the moment in which the miraculous occurred.  She stood face to—well, sort of face with the woman she’d spent seven years wondering about, and nothing.  No words, nor sound, unless one counted her unsteady breaths.

Henry moved to her side, placing his hands on either shoulder.  “Mom, this is Beth.”

Emma smiled amidst her freely flowing tears.  “Hi, honey.”

When Beth answered, her voice was softer than a whisper.  “Hi, Mom.”

“I hate to break up a happy reunion,” said Regina, “but how is it you’re alive?”

“The short version?”  Emma wiped her cheeks with the tips of her fingers.

“That would be preferable.”

Before Emma answered, before the lot of them got lost in what was sure to be a horrible tale, Beth said, “Henry, go get Dad.”

Regina nodded when Henry looked to her for approval, and with a final glance at the looking glass, he was gone.

Emma smiled at Beth, even as her lips trembled.  Clearing her throat, she shook her head and refocused her attention on Regina.  “The last thing I remember before waking up here is being at the hospital.  Killian—” her voice cracked and she ran her thumb under her eye before continuing.  “He was worried something would go wrong.  And then something did.”  Her eyes flitted briefly to Beth.  “When I woke up, I was here.”  She held her hands out at her sides, gesturing to her surroundings, which the mirror did little to accentuate—if Beth squinted hard enough, she could make out a wall or two made of wood.

“Where exactly is ‘here’?”  Asked Regina.

A ripple spread across the mirror’s surface, obscuring Emma’s voice.

“er—een held—eress—ed to watch my family from afar.”

“Emma, you’re breaking up.”

“This whole time you could see us?”  Asked Beth.

“Yeah, honey.”  Emma smiled sadly.  “I’m so—I—uldn’t—”

The looking glass shook in its frame, the once transparent plane turned opaque, reflective, and in a flash of light, Emma was gone.

“Mom?”  Beth bounded forward, pounding on the glass.  “Mom!”

Voices, harried but familiar, followed frantic steps down the mausoleum steps and into the vault.  By the time Henry reached them, standing crestfallen in front of an antique heirloom, he was breathless, his hair in disarray at having run to the apartment and back.

Seeing her father at his heels, Beth hurried to his side and hugged him, burying her face in his cotton clad stomach.

Pulling her back, he kneeled to face her.  “What’s happened, Love?”

Beth shook her head, bit her bottom lip to stymie her emotion.

He turned his gaze to Henry and then Regina, both about as eager to speak as his daughter.

Regina stepped forward, clearing her throat and clasping her hands before her in that professional manner she’d perfected over the ages of her life.  “We used magic to communicate with Emma.”

Beth’s stomach lurched at the sudden shift in her dad’s eyes, his hands, on reflex, clenching around her arms.

“You did what?”

“It isn’t what you think.”  Said Henry.

“I would’ve thought you learned your lesson about summoning the dead.”  Her dad said to Regina in the coldest tone Beth had ever heard—from anyone.

“She isn’t dead.”  Said Beth.  “Mom’s alive—we talked to her.”

 

—

 

She was forbidden from returning to Regina’s.  Indefinitely.  No magic lessons, no nothing.

_“Do you understand me, Elizabeth?”_

The look on his face upon leaving the vault had her finally understanding what she’d once deemed impossible.  How could her father ever have been known by such terms as _dreaded_ and _fearsome_ and _lethal_?  It was the first time in her young life she’d witnessed Captain Hook firsthand.  And seeing him sent a shiver down her spine.

“It’s true.”  Henry insisted as he crossed into the apartment.  “I saw her, too.”

Her dad returned the keys to the table by the front door.  “In some bloody magic mirror belonging to the evil queen.”

“That isn’t fair, Killian—you know she isn’t that way anymore.”

“Can’t say the same for the haunted relics she keeps locked in that vault.  There’s a reason not even she goes down there anymore.”

“Is someone going to tell us what happened?”  Grandpa David called from the couch.  “You two ran out of here faster than we could ask where the fire was.”

With a sigh, her dad removed his jacket, side-eyeing Beth as she locked the door behind her.  “It’s a long story.”

“I happen to like long stories.”  Said Grandma Snow, seated at Grandpa’s side.

“Emma’s alive and Killian refuses to accept it.”  Said Henry.  “So Beth’s grounded, and if I don’t stop encouraging her, Killian’s going to stop sending money to my school, and I’ll be stuck here in the place where happy endings go to die.”

“Oh.”  Grandma Snow cut her glance between the three of them, then looked to her husband.  “Is that all?”

When Grandpa David got to his feet, Beth sensed an impending inspirational speech about the emotional benefits of letting go, so she walked past her dad, en route to her room.

“This isn’t finished, Elizabeth.”

Turning on him, she yelled, “My name is Emma!  Emma Elizabeth Jones—why can’t you say it?  You gave it to me!”

Her dad closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to calm his frustration.  Once opened, the storm clouds no longer raged.  “Beth, sweetheart, I know you want to believe your mother’s out there, somewhere.  I want to believe it, too—you have no idea how much.”

“Then why don’t you?”

He sighed, kneeling to face her, and brushing away the tear she hadn’t permitted to fall.  “One of the things your mother abhorred most was false hope, and I _can’t_ give that to you.”

She realized that any argument was futile.  Whatever hope her dad once had died seven years ago.  She’d need definitive proof if she was ever going to get it back.

Nodding, she said, “Okay.”

With a kiss on the cheek and a reminder that he loved her, he let her walk away.

 

—

 

She waited until well past midnight, when the house fell silent.  She’d heard her family discussing her vivid imagination for a solid two hours before each of them shuffled off to bed.

_“She’s young—she’ll grow out of it.”_   Grandpa David had said.

Her dad’s response was barely audible.  _“I shouldn’t want her to grow out of it.”_

_“Henry was the same way at her age.”_   This from Grandma Snow.

_“So best case scenario, my daughter runs away because none of us believes her.  Worst case, she sacrifices herself to prove she’s right.  Bloody brilliant.”_

_“She isn’t Henry and you’re not Emma.”  Said Grandpa David.  “I’m sure it won’t come to either of those extremes.”_

_Following a long silence filled with heavy sighs, her father spoke again.  “How do I tell my daughter to abandon hope?  How do I live with myself after doing so?”  The way his words were muffled, Beth imagined him burying his face in his hands.  “Gods, I wish she were right.”_

She was right and she was going to prove it—without falling under a sleeping curse if she could help it.

Having tied the bed sheets the way Neal had taught her, she tossed the makeshift rope out the window and waited for any startled sounds.  When none came, she climbed outside and down the western front of the apartment building, and set off into the night.

 

—

 

_“Remember what I told you about magic?”_

_“It senses other magic.”_

_“Correct.”  Said Regina.  “Light and Dark magic have distinctly different characteristics, not simply in execution, but in the way they exude energy.”_

Standing in the middle of the forest, stock still, eyes closed as though meditating, Beth focused on all the points of power, like thumbtacks in a mental map of Storybrooke.  The brightest spots were usually Regina’s and Mr. Gold’s Pawn Shop—she’d rather not remark on the quality of light radiating from the latter point.  The fewer things that triggered her dad’s temper, the better.  But tonight, there was a third point, strongest and most vivid of all, and it resided at the edge of the woods, where the town’s border abutted the Land Without Magic.

It was much larger than a spot in person.  Larger, in fact, than any house she’d ever seen—not that Storybrooke was the best example of premier real estate.  It reminded her of the castle on _Beauty and the Beast_ , with a looming low fog for no apparent reason beyond atmosphere.

As she followed the cobblestone walk to the front entrance, she felt sparks of both anticipation and dread—she had no desire to see her father’s alter ego reborn, and she had a feeling she would if her endeavor yielded negative results.  But it couldn’t—she’d seen her mother, had spoken with her.  She was alive, and Beth would prove it.

And her dad would be happy again.

Sure, he put on a good show, and he no doubt believed his own performance.  But Beth heard his screams late at night, heard him calling her mother’s name in his sleep.  She watched sorrow creep into his eyes whenever he let them linger too long on one of her photos.  He’d blink it away and continue on as though nothing had happened, pasting on a bright smile for his daughter’s benefit.  But for all his efforts to appear recovered, he was far from it.

The door was unlocked.  A bad sign.

The hinges groaned, their reluctance echoing across the cavernous foyer.  Dust blanketed every discernible surface, and the only source of light was the moon, shining in scant patches through barred windows.  The air was ghastly cold, as though winter originated inside its walls.  And the magic emanating from it was most assuredly _not_ Light.

Beth shivered.

_Dreadful, horrible place_.  If she weren’t on a very specific mission, she’d avoid the entire estate, outright.  It was then that a sickening thought came upon her.  _Poor Mom_.

She followed the grand staircase, which her dad would’ve labeled _grotesquely ornate_ , and came upon a long hallway, lined on either side with paintings that bore unnerving similarity to the pictures in her storybook.  At its end was the mirror from her vision.  Seeing it, she ran headlong toward her own reflection, but the faster her movements, the farther her target.  The walls closed in around her, encasing her in a chamber of mirrors—her vision come to life.

Stopping in her tracks, she closed her eyes, focused all her attention, every sense, every emotion on the person she’d come here to find.

_“She was the strongest person I’ve ever known.”_

_Vanilla, rum, cinnamon, the sea._

_“She would’ve loved you.”_

_Unchained Melody, red leather jackets, strawberry pop-tarts._

_“She couldn’t wait to meet you.”_

_Savior, sheriff, princess, daughter, friend._

“Mom.”

The mirror became a window, just as in Regina’s vault, and on the other side stood a smiling Emma.

“You found me.”

Then came that voice, deep and sinister, like Ursula in _The Little Mermaid_.

_“The real Ursula is no one to trifle with.”_   Her dad once said.

How he’d come by that knowledge, Beth didn’t want to know.

Her only concern at present was her own foolishness.  Running off alone, as if she were a hero like the rest of her family.  Now she just wanted to get her mom and go home.  She wanted her dad.  She’d happily let him kill her, if only he’d save her first.

“Didn’t Daddy tell you?”  It surrounded her on every side, an invisible force constricting like a snake, confining her to that glass enclosure.  “Wandering alone in the woods is how innocent little princesses _lose their way_.”  The cackle was like a quake reshaping the earth, and it was everywhere at once.

Beth closed her eyes, covered her ears, and screamed.


	5. Chapter 5

_His mind was of a singular thought.  His body moved of automatic reflex, repeating the same movements as every day of his wretched existence, but this day was infinitely worse than the darkest among them, and so removed was he from the steps he took, that they were merely an extension of him.  A subconscious response to his panic.  He needed to get to her, and his body bore him hence._

Emma _._

_His chest tightened at the whisper of her name across his heart._

_If it couldn’t be reversed—_

_Gods, he’d not survive this one._

_He came to the small clearing as instructed by the demon wearing a shopkeeper’s face.  The crowd parted for him, making a straight and unobstructed path to the place she lay, her skin colorless and cold, her chest unmoved by breath._

_She wore her red leather jacket; it glowed like a beacon in the rain._

_He should’ve been here—he should’ve been the one to take the hit.  He’d escaped every curse to come his way, it was only fair that one should catch up with him.  Not—Gods, not Emma._

_—_

_“You never told me how you got this one.”  Her fingertips traced the scar on his cheek with a delicate caress, as though the wound were still fresh._

_“I only know the tale as my brother told it to me.”  Beneath the covers, his hand roved the curve of her hip, and she leaned into his touch.  “When I was a lad not much older than Neal is now, Liam and I pulled into port—not far, in fact, from the very one that boasts a quaint little tavern, wherein a rather brazen bar wench helped herself to my rum—ow.”_

_Emma giggled when Killian recoiled from her pinching fingers.  “I was not brazen—and as I recall, you couldn’t ply me with rum fast enough.”_

_“Let’s not forget who was sent to seduce whom.”_

_“I did not—I wasn’t going to_ seduce _you.”_

_Killian winked.  “Your secret’s safe with me, Love—ow.  Bloody hell, Swan, would you quit doing that?”_

_The corners of her mouth turned down in a mock frown.  “Sensitive, are we,_ Captain _?”_

_Her laughter rang out when he rolled her onto her back.  “Admit it, Swan—you’re a bloody minx.”_

_“Mm...” she adjusted her position beneath him, situating her hips at the most enticing angle.  “I may need further incentive to admit something of that magnitude.”_

_He groaned, his head falling forward, burrowed in the crook of her neck.  She laughed at his reaction as she shifted her position, lining herself up for a second round of the evening’s festivities._

_“You’ll be the death of me, Swan.”_

_—_

_“Hook, it’s over.  We should get her out of here, take her to—”_

_“Have you tried True Love’s Kiss?”  Killian asked, not taking his eyes from Emma.  “Where’s Henry?”_

_“It didn’t work—nothing’s worked.”  David closed his hand around Killian’s arm.  “We can’t save her this time.”_

_“Like hell.”  Killian shrugged off the prince’s hold.  “Bloody do something—you can’t just let her…she can’t…”_

_David said nothing further, but Killian heard the quiet sobs he tried to contain._

_“May I have a moment?”_

_With a pat on the shoulder, David joined the crowd come to see the Savior perish._

_—_

Bloody insatiable woman _._

_Scarcely had he caught his breath when Emma began nibbling at his ear and forging a downward path along his jaw and neck and—gods would he ever get enough?_

_“You never finished your story.”  She looked at him with a mischievous smile.  “About your scar.”_

_“My last attempt was interrupted rather abruptly.”_

_“I didn’t hear any complaints.”  Emma’s smile widened._

_Killian laughed before continuing on with his account.  “When we were boys, our father took us to a cottage by the sea, where we’d spend the day, just the three of us.  Later, it was just the two of us, Liam and me, and one day I swam too close to the rocks in a place where the current was too strong.  It dragged me under.  Liam saved me from being carried out to sea, but not before one of the rocks had carved a sizeable fissure here.”  He ran his forefinger along the scar’s edge.  “My brother said I was marked that day, that the sea had claimed me, and I’d never be free of it.”_

_“And here I thought there was some sort of duel involved.”_

_“I wasn’t always a pirate.”_

_“So I’m discovering.”_

_Emma’s humor faded to a grave expression._

_“What is it, Love?”_

_“Nothing, it’s…nothing.”_

_“For someone who can so easily spot the lies of others, you’re quite the rubbish liar yourself.”_

_“Only with you.”  She smirked then fell serious again.  “I was just wondering what…happened to your father.”_

_Killian swept her hair from her shoulder.  “That, Mrs. Jones, is rather a different tale.”_

_—_

_“I’m sorry, Swan.  I should’ve been here, I should’ve…”_

_He shook his head.  The list of things he should’ve done was infinite.  The things he should’ve said and didn’t, the things he shouldn’t have said but did._

_He shouldn’t have yelled at her._

_At that moment, a voice from his past came to taunt him._ “Perhaps _you_ shouldn’t have goaded him into it.”

_Blinking back tears, he leaned forward, whispering against her skin that which had been on his heart from the moment he met her, “I love you, Emma.”_

_A brush of lips, a rush of wind, a sudden pulse of power._

_Emma sat up with a gasp, grasping his hand._

Killian woke to an empty bed, unable to breathe.  He sat at the mattress edge, clutching the side of his head.  Would the dreams never end?  Seven years they’d been constant, but lately they were relentless.  He couldn’t remember the last night he’d gotten proper rest.

His shirt was sodden with the evidence of his unconscious struggle—he cast it into the laundry bin on his way to the lavatory.  Remembering too late that the mirror was gone, he gripped the countertop, leaning his head down to catch his breath.

This time, instead of his reflection staring back at him, a stark contrast to the man he’d been most of his life, it was the portion of painted flesh along his forearm.

_“Daddy, who’s Milah?”_

He’d seen the destruction wrought by lies, and so he vowed to himself, and to Emma’s memory that he’d never lie to his daughter, or his stepson, but this was one instance in which he’d been tempted to go back on his word.  What good would it do to tell her about the woman he’d loved before her mother?

But tell her, he did—with as little inclusion of his own misdeeds as he could manage.

With Milah, it’d been different.  He’d known precisely who was to blame for her untimely passing.  Revenge was the obvious course, from whence he couldn’t have strayed in the earliest years if he’d tried.  But with Emma…

What would slake his unquenchable grief when the reason for her demise was also the reason he got up in the morning?  How did he take pleasure in being a father without feeling as though he’d traded one love for the other?

 

—

 

The refrigerator cast its light upon the small kitchen, illuminating appliances, the names of which Killian was certain would never stick—the world could be content with him knowing the term _refrigerator_.  A throat cleared behind him as he poured himself a glass of orange juice—practical name, Killian had always thought.

“Can I pour you a glass, Dave?”

“Please.”  David pulled a stool up to the bar.  “What’s kept you up this time?”

“Same as ever.  And yourself?”

“Mary Margaret.”  David reached immediately for the juice that Killian set before him.  “She’s worried about you—we all are.”

Killian scoffed.  “Never thought I’d hear those words uttered.”

“We were discussing the situation with Beth.”

“And what pearls of parental wisdom did you produce?”  Killian looked down at the glass in his hand, its contents untouched.  “Apologies, Mate.”

David nodded his acceptance.  “Do you remember when Henry told you he no longer believed in happy endings?”

“He said there were no heroes or villains, and we’re all doomed to suffer no matter our efforts, so why bother trying.”

“For the first time in longer than I can remember, Henry seems…hopeful.  Of anyone, he’d be the first to dissuade Beth.”

Killian didn’t answer.

“If he says he saw her, I’m inclined to believe him.”

“And you’re not the least bit biased?”

“Aren’t we all when it comes to Emma?”

Killian swallowed thickly, swishing his drink around its tumbler.  “You’ve got me there, Mate.”

 

—

 

The first thing that struck him was the undisturbed bed.  Second, the window cracked open on a winter’s night.  Crossing the room, Killian peered outside, his gaze following the tangle of bed sheets touching ground.

In an instant, he was at the front door, pulling his jacket hastily over each arm, and reaching for his keys.

“Where are you going?”  David called from his kitchen stool.

“Beth’s gone.”  He tugged on his boots.  “She’s run away.”

David didn’t try to keep him, only promised as Killian took the stairs two at a time that he and Henry would cover Main Street and Granny’s, knowing Killian’s mind was on the docks.  When they turned up no results, he scoured every inch of Storybrooke from the library to the town line before panic truly settled in.

Just as a lump formed in his throat, the phone vibrated in his pocket, Mary Margaret’s name flashing on the screen.

“Killian, she’s here—she’s home.”

The return journey was spent, in its entirety, developing the proper admonishment.  For the foreseeable future, his daughter was a nun—cut off from every luxury on which she was raised, chief among which were television and internet, and he’d be damned if she was stepping foot outside before she turned eighteen.  First thing when he got home, he’d confiscate her books, including that blasted electronic tablet David talked him into purchasing last month.  She would sit at her desk and formulate the most effusive and heartfelt apology known to this or any world.  And then maybe, just maybe he’d consider letting her experience human interaction again.

But when he crossed the threshold and saw her standing there, safe, every ounce of anger faded and he fell to his knees, hugging her.

“You scared the hell out of me.”  He said.  “Don’t ever do that again.”

“I found Mom.”

He pulled back slowly, trying to temper his wrath anew.  “Beth, sweetheart…we’ve been through this.”

“I know, Daddy, but this time I have proof—I found her.  She’s trapped and she needs our help.  There’s this mansion deep in the woods.  I had to escape before the Sorceress caught me, but Mom’s still there.”

“Come on, Killian.”  Said Henry.  “What’s the harm in finding out?”

“Beth, to your room.”

“But, Daddy—”

With a look that warned against arguing, Beth’s face twisted with a frown.  She stomped away to her room without another word spoken.

Killian turned to Henry.  “Lad, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say things like that in front of her.”

“And I’d appreciate it if you stopped acting like my father.  You marrying my mom doesn’t make us family.”  With eyes that could’ve melted flesh, Henry stalked away, the sound of his slammed door echoing moments after.

“Killian…”

“Dave, don’t.”

“Henry’s right.”

“What happens when it isn’t true?  What happens to my daughter when this is all over and we’re back where we started?  You may be willing to risk her heart, but I’m not.”

“Is it _her_ heart you’re protecting?”

Killian clenched his jaw, any sarcastic retort dying on his tongue.

“If there’s a chance my daughter’s out there, that she’s been…imprisoned by some evil sorceress, I’m not going to sit here and do nothing.  What if it were Beth?”

Killian met David’s knowing gaze.

“What’s the harm in knowing for sure?”

“I can’t…” his voice shook with unwanted emotion, “…I can’t let myself…” he shook his head.

That blasted hand of his, ever eager to soothe, found its way to Killian’s shoulder.  “You’re not alone in this.”

 

—

 

When she didn’t answer his second summons, Killian felt a swell of terror at the thought that she’d run off again.  He opened her door to find her facedown on her bed, crying into a pillow, and his heart sank at the sight.

Seating himself beside her, he said, “This…mansion.  Do you remember how to get there?”

She sat up in a flash.  “We’re going to get Mom?”

“You’re staying here.  Grandpa’s the sheriff, so he and I will go and…investigate.”

“But that’s not fair!  I have magic.”

“As does Regina.  I’ve apologized for my outburst and she’s agreed to help us.  And with her so far from town, someone will have to look after your grandmother and Uncle Neal, hm?”  He tucked his hand under her chin.

She crossed her arms, not falling for it.

“It’s safer this way, Love.  Promise me you’ll not follow us.”

Frowning, she grumbled, “I promise.”

“That’s a good lass.”  He kissed her forehead, drying her cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“Daddy, before you go, can I show you what I learned during my last lesson?”

He eyed her skeptically.  “I’m rather fond of my eyebrows, Love.”

She giggled, leaning forward to sit up on her knees.  “No, silly.  Watch.”  She closed her eyes, placed her palm flat against his chest, just left of center.  A temporary tingling sensation later and she looked up at him.  “In case she tries to take your heart.”

“Did you just…cast a protection spell?”

Her smile was the widest he’d ever seen.  “Yep.”

“Bloody brilliant.  Just like your mum.”


	6. Chapter 6

The mansion was precisely where Beth said it would be, and just as ominous as her description.  The three of them shuddered from the collective chill across their spines.  They took the grotesquely ornate staircase, Regina at the lead, followed by Killian and then David, to a long corridor decorated with scenes each of them had lived.  At the end, in accordance with Beth’s tale, a looking glass the height and width of a wall.

Regina was the first to approach, closing her eyes and waving her hands in a most theatrical manner.  A second time, and a third.  When nothing happened, David sighed, and Killian clenched his jaw.

For all his efforts not to get his hopes up, he’d done just that.

“Should’ve brought the bloody Dark One.”  He mumbled.

Regina glared at him, looking every bit the evil queen she’d forsaken years ago.  “I agreed to this fool’s errand to help your daughter—it wouldn’t hurt to show a little gratitude.”

“He’s just nervous.”

“I’d appreciate you not speaking on my behalf, Dave.”

Taking a deep breath, Regina tried again.  This time, when she waved her hands, the looking glass shattered.

And on the other side, stood the impossible.

She looked back at him with wide green eyes, mouth open, appearing as dumbfounded as he felt.  It wasn’t until he whispered, “Swan,” that she moved, bounding forward and latching her arms around his neck.

His cursed limbs, frozen with shock, were slow in responding.  Once they got their wits about them, they pulled her flush against him.  “Is it really you?”

She answered by cradling the back of his head as she sighed into his shoulder.

“How is this possible?  I saw you—you were…” he swallowed thickly, feeling a familiar sting in his eyes, “How are you alive?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got all the time in the world, Love.”

Emma laughed, clinging more tightly to him.  In finally pulling away, the two of them locked eyes, moving forward for a long overdue public display, when an invisible force intervened, propelling them apart.  The only sound to follow was cackling, like thunder all around.

 

—

 

Regina stood at the threshold, where the looking glass had regenerated, naught but flickers of light leaving her hands.  She glared at the lot of them, trapped like rats in a magical box.

“I should’ve known better.”  She said.  “No good ever comes from helping this family.”

Ignoring her, Killian turned back to Emma.  “So you could see us?”

Emma nodded.

“The entire time?”

A tear formed in the corner of her eye, and she wiped it away.  “All I could do was watch.  Until recently.”

“The mirror.”  Said Killian.  “That was you, wasn’t it?”

She gave a slight smile.

“What changed?”

“My guess is Beth.  Somehow she was able to cross barriers no one else can.”

Killian ran his hand through his hair.  “And I didn’t believe her.”

“You had no reason to,” David chimed in from his quarter of the chamber.  The four of them had been sectioned off, separated by _force fields_ —Emma’s term.  “The things she was saying, they were…”

“Crazy?”  Killian quirked his brow.

“While this is all very fascinating,” said Regina, “wouldn’t our efforts be better spent looking for a way out of this hellhole?”

“I’ve spent the last seven years doing exactly that.”  Said Emma.  “I doubt whoever’s kept me captive during that time is going to let her guard down again.”

“What does she want with you?”  Asked Killian.

“I don’t know.”

Regina scoffed.  “I find that a little hard to believe.”

“You think I’m lying?”

“I think the memory lapses in this family are a little convenient.”

“You would know.”

“We won’t get anywhere by turning on each other.”  Said David.

“We’re all open to suggestions, Mate.”  Said Killian.

“And we’d better make it quick—knowing Beth and Henry, they won’t sit idle for long.”

“Aye.  I’d give it another hour before they come looking.”

“If that.”

“ _Ideas_ would be helpful.”  Said Regina.

“Is there any way to contact Gold?”  Asked Emma.

Regina rolled her eyes.  “I didn’t see many payphones on the way in.”

“Dave,” said Killian, “any chance you brought your cell?”

“Already tried—no service.”

“Well there wouldn’t be, would there?”  Said Regina.  “I doubt your service provider could succeed where magic fails.”

“This may sound crazy,” said David, “but what if Beth is our only hope?”

“Are you out of your mind?” and “Not a chance in hell,” were spoken in unison by her parents.

“Her magic is the strongest any of us have ever seen—and Emma knows how to contact her.”

“If— _if—_ we went along with what you’re saying, I’m sure there’s some sort of counter spell in place by now.”  Said Emma.  “And you’re suggesting we lure my daughter into a trap, all so we can save our own skin?  Not happening.”

“Knowing your daughter, she won’t need an invitation.”  Said Regina.

“She’s right.”  Said Killian.  “Bloody stubborn, like her mother.”

Emma glowered at him.

“Have I told a lie, Love?”

She rolled her eyes, but Killian caught the ghost of a smile playing at her lips.

“Henry’s no different.”  Said Regina.  “He may look like a man, but he never did outgrow the impulse to act first, think later.”

“So either way, we’re screwed.”  Said Emma.  She squinted her eyes into the near distance, and got to her feet, approaching the force field between her and Killian, “Unless…”

In touching it, the barricade sparked.  Emma closed her eyes and reached both hands forward, screaming in agony but not breaking contact.  Killian pleaded with her to stop—they’d find another way.  But she didn’t hear him.

A flash of light erupted, surrounding them, and Emma was thrown back.  Killian was at her side in an instant, not realizing until she sat up, grasping his jacket collar, that the force field was overcome.

Emma smiled at him, and he lifted her into an embrace.

“You’ll have plenty of opportunities to grope each other when we get out of here.”  Said Regina, causing David’s face to fall ashen.  “But for the time being, could we focus?”

Killian aided Emma in standing, and she and Regina set to work taking down the remaining walls.

 

—

 

Returned to the safety of the apartment—Regina having decided on everyone’s behalf that _poofing_ was the best option—Emma pulled Killian into her arms, squeezing rather tightly.  Not that he was about to complain.

“So far that’s three for the pirate.”  Said David.  “And none for anyone else.”

Emma laughed, trading Killian for her father.  “I missed you, Dad.”

Mary Margaret and Henry and Neal joined them, and it was all rounds of hugs and kisses and whispered declarations and tears.  By the time early morning’s light crept through the windows, the lot of them were a sodding mess.

“I hate to be the voice of reason, but we aren’t out of the woods, yet.”

“Regina’s right.”  Said David.  “The sorceress has to know we’re gone.”

“So what do we do?”  Asked Killian.

“I’d say a protection spell, for starters.”  Said Regina.  “But seeing as she was able to immobilize the Savior for seven years, I doubt it will hold for long.”

“We need any advantage we can get.”  Said David.

“Mom?”  Every head turned toward a quiet voice from the corridor.

Emma walked slowly toward her, taking a knee once arrived.  “Hi, honey.”

Beth sprang forward, nearly toppling Emma to the floor, and Emma laughed, the sound falling on Killian’s ears like an angel’s song.

“Emma?”  Regina said softly, her voice absent of the sarcasm it’d known all evening.  “We really do need to set up that protection spell.”

“Of course.”

Emma dried her cheeks upon standing, and Beth moved to Killian’s side.

Watching them work, she whispered, “She’s really back.”

“Thanks to you, Love.”  Killian smiled down at her, but his daughter wore an anxious expression.  “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”

“It wouldn’t be a very good story if you did.”  Beth forced a smile.

“Hey, there’s no need to be frightened.

“I’m not.”  She glanced up at him and his arched brow.  “Maybe a little.  I don’t know what to do with my hands.”  She held them up, bending and straightening her fingers.  “Is it hot in here?”

Killian laughed.  “Breathe.”

Her shoulders rose and fell in an exaggerated fashion.

“You’ll do fine.”

“Have you ever wanted something so badly, dreamed of it for so long, but never actually imagined it would happen?  And then it did?”

Killian regarded his daughter.  He never failed to see Emma in some part or other—the expressions that contorted her young face, her determined spirit, gods, her laugh above all.  But perhaps there were parts of him, as well.

“Aye.”

“How did you survive it?”

He took her hand.  “By holding on.”


	7. Chapter 7

_David draped the blanket over Emma’s shoulders while Henry made hot chocolate.  Killian was at her side, a warm shoulder for her to rest her head.  And she did, without a care as to whom might lay witness to the moment, clutching Killian’s hand as though it were an anchor to her own mortality._

The only thing missing, _he mused_ , is a human icemaker with a missing OFF switch.

_Henry called from the kitchen and David answered without delay, leaving the two of them nestled in solitude._

_It was then that Emma whispered, her words like a soft caress to ears that’d known only insult for centuries on end, “I love you, too.”_

_“So I gathered.”  Killian smiled cheekily._

_Emma rolled her eyes.  “You’re going to be obnoxious about this, aren’t you?”_

_“It’s not every day a miserable pirate like meself awakens a fair maiden with True Love’s Kiss.”_

_“Hm…” Emma melted against him like her body was made to fit his, “should we change your name to Captain Charming?”_

_“I’d rather you didn’t.”_

_Emma laughed, and the sound, more than any before, unmade the blackened depths of his vengeful heart._

He woke to an empty bed, and for a dreadful moment, as his search of the covers yielded no results, he feared the night’s evens had been a dream.  Then he saw her standing by the window, looking upon an afternoon gray with fog, arms crossed, hair caught by the wind whistling through the screen.

“Aren’t you cold, Love?”

She smirked without looking at him, and ran her hands along the sleeves of her sweater, white as winter’s first snow.  “I’m freezing.”

The bedsprings groaned at Killian’s departure.  He approached his wife, wrapped his arms around her waist, and chanced a kiss across her cheek.

“There wasn’t much fresh air in that place.”  She said.

If ever he got his hands on that bloody sorceress, gods only knew what he’d do.  Killian had an inkling, but he knew himself well enough to be aware of his temper, and of the transformation it yielded during confrontations with creatures who threatened the ones he loved.  About one thing, there could be no question—he’d never doubt his daughter again.

“Killian…” Emma untangled herself from his hold, turning finally to face him.  A shadow across her countenance, she backed away.  “I just…” her hands fisted and unfurled as she closed her eyes, taking a breath for strength.  Once opened, the shadow was replaced by something equally as unsettling, something Killian couldn’t quite name.  “You know how much I love you.  I just…I need some time.  To…readjust.”

“Of course.”  Killian increased the space between them, feeling a fool.  “I’ll go and…see about some coffee.”

Amusement twisted Emma’s mouth.  “You drink coffee, now?”

Scratching behind his hear, Killian grinned.  Gods, why was he nervous?  She was his wife.  His True Love.  The mother of his child.

Whom he hadn’t seen for seven years.  And was, no doubt, severely traumatized by her recent incarceration.

_Get a bloody grip, Mate._

“Dave’s fault.”  He said as the memory of his adamant refusal raced to the surface of his thoughts ( _“…revolting black sludge—and I’ll be damned before it passes my lips a second time,”)_.  “Beth’s first years were...” he avoided Emma’s eyes, “…difficult.”  Killian interrupted her attempt at apologizing— _nonsensical lass_.  “Your father insisted the vile dreck would aid me in staying awake.  And bloody hell if he wasn’t right.”  He smirked, feeling every moment more self-conscious.

Gods, if he didn’t get out of that room, he’d show himself for the lovesick sod he was.

Seeming to sense his simultaneous need and disinclination to leave, Emma said, “I guess I’ll meet you out there.”

 

—

 

The kitchen was eerily quiet as Killian entered.  Every eye looked up from their day’s first meal and trained an inquisitive gaze on his face.

“She’s washing up.”  He told them, and their curious stares dispersed.  As they did, Killian observed a distinct absence at the lunch table.  “Where’s Beth?”

Henry answered, “Haven’t seen her since I tucked her into bed.”

Killian glanced across the loft, as though expecting his daughter to materialize at the mention of her name.  When she didn’t, he excused himself to the enthusiastic understanding of everyone watching.

 

—

 

“Come in,” came her voice from beyond the door.

“Morning, Love—er, afternoon.”

She smiled half-heartedly from her perch at the edge of her bed.

“Pathetic.”  Killian quipped.  “You can do better than that.”

Her second attempt was grossly exaggerated, the gesture closing her eyes and stretching her mouth to show every last tooth.  Killian laughed and Beth could maintain her sour mood no longer.

“Bloody terrifying.”  He said.  When she didn’t inform him of a fresh debt, he crossed the room to sit beside her.  “What’s got you so forlorn, Love?  Thought you’d be over the moon—Mum’s back, and we’ve got you to thank.”

She looked down at her hands.  “Nothing.  It’s stupid.”  She fidgeted with the wrinkles in her flannel shirt.  Killian tucked his hand under her chin, imploring her to meet his eye.  “I was just thinking…about the mansion.”

“What about it?”

“There was no Light magic.”

Killian furrowed his brow, waiting for an explanation that never came.  “Stands to reason, Love, it being an evil lair, and all.”

“But Mom was there.  Shouldn’t there have been some spec of light in the darkness?”

Killian opened his mouth to respond, to lay her fears to rest, but found his assurances lacking.  “I suppose this sorceress is more powerful than our initial inference.”  He watched worry etch its way across his daughter’s features.  “Hey,” he pulled her to his side, “we’ll sort everything out, Love.  All of us, together.  Don’t get lost in all the possible ways this could go wrong.”

 

—

 

The room echoed with the clanking of metal forks against ceramic plates.  Henry and Neal pushed the food around, touching nary a bite to their lips.  David took tentative swallows from his cup, while Mary Margaret looked around the table with an undying smile.  Beth stared at her plate with the same sad eyes Killian had seen in her room.  And Emma pretended not to notice their strange behavior.

Killian fought the urge to take his wife’s hand, fearing her rebuke, and knowing the effect it would have on Beth’s already distrustful temperament.  But the silence was getting to him—getting to them all, by the looks of it.

What did one say in situations like this?  Couldn’t exactly inquire after Emma’s diversions during the past seven years— _“By the way, Love, you never did tell me what kept you from losing your mind while you were away.”_   Away.  As though she’d merely been on a solitary vacation she hadn’t meant to end.

Gods, he was so much more than nervous.  He was bloody terrified.

Would one wrong move send her running?  Did they need to schedule her an emergency session with Dr. Hopper, that she might work through her trauma with a professional?  Did the cricket count as such, having attained his accreditation from a blasted curse?

Or did she merely need, as she’d said, time to readjust?

Whatever the proper course, Killian couldn’t push her.

“So, Henry,” everyone looked to Emma as she spoke, all movement ceased, “Killian tells me you chose a college overseas.”

“Yeah.”  Said Henry, a bit sheepishly.  “I didn’t…” the lad caught a reproving glance from his grandfather and reconsidered his tack, “I thought it would be a nice change of scenery, a chance to be immersed in a different culture, you know.  But if I’m being honest, the lack of drinking age is what really sold me.”

“Henry!”  Mary Margaret flushed.

“Kidding.”  Henry smiled at Emma.  “Mostly.”

Emma laughed and they all breathed more easily.  Reaching across the table, she cradled Henry’s cheek in her hand.  “You’re all grown up, kid.”

“You keep saying that.”  Henry cleared his throat, returning his attention to his plate, but Killian caught sight of the moisture he blinked away.

“What about you?”  She turned to Beth, the child appearing petrified by the attention.  “Seven years.”  Emma smiled sadly.  “What grade is that?”

“Second.”  Beth said with a small voice.

“Second grade,” Emma whispered, taking a moment to digest this revelation.  “Do you enjoy school?”

Beth shrugged.  “It’s okay.”

“I hear Regina has been teaching you magic.”

“A little.”

“She’s rather gifted.”  Said Killian, nudging his daughter with his arm.  “She’s much too modest, but we’ve the highest confidence in her abilities.”

“It’s exciting, isn’t it?  Having magic?”

The atmosphere shifted with Emma’s words, as each of them openly wondered if they’d heard her correctly.

“I mean…” Emma glanced around the table, “…it wasn’t always.”

The tension relaxed, but not completely.  Pretenses resumed as the table was once again consumed by silence.

Pushing her chair back, Emma stood.  “I’m pretty tired, so I’m just gonna…go.”  At Killian’s evident panic, she added, “To bed.  Go…to bed.”

“Of course, Love.”  He said, trying to sound as though his very existence didn’t hinge on her every move.

 

—

 

A fortnight passed in much the same manner, wrought with every inelegance that came with taking up one’s old life after an extended absence.  Three nights into lying at opposite ends of the bed they’d once shared, staring up at disobliging rafters while waiting for their bedmate to say something—anything—to break the unbearable quiet that teemed with the weight of their separation, Killian and Emma agreed that they should follow a slower progression.

He’d succeeded at sneaking back into their quarters before the loft was awake, and at avoiding suspicion—even from Beth, who seemed nigh on nocturnal these days.  But that morning, he was late in waking, or was the lad early?

He watched Killian from his seat atop the wooden chest David and Mary Margaret referred to as the coffee table.  “Did you sleep out here?”

“Aye.”  Killian rubbed his tired eyes with his thumb and middle finger, feeling as though he’d drunk the town dry of rum, when in reality he’d had but a glass.  Or two.

The count didn’t matter.

“Is something wrong?  Are you and Mom fighting?  Did you say something to upset her?”

Killian looked over at the boy and read the deep concern staring back at him through Emma’s eyes.  Killian’s muscles protested his efforts to sit up, pulling a groan from his throat as he leaned forward, arms on knees, feet flat to a hardwood floor.

“You’ve nothing to fear, Lad.  Your mother just needs some time to—”

“Readjust?”

Killian nodded, immediately regretting the action, as he experienced what felt like his brain rattling around his skull.

“She said the same thing to me.  Meanwhile, Beth has barricaded herself in her room—when have you known her to miss a single lesson, let alone two weeks’ worth?  Grandpa’s practically living at the sheriff’s station, and Grandma won’t stop baking—Neal and I have eaten our weight in Danish and the fridge is still overflowing.  Emma might as well still be trapped in that mansion for all we’ve seen of her.  Does any of this seem normal to you?”

“Normal is a big ask at the moment, Lad, but we’ll get there.  You can’t expect everything to go back to the way it was before Emma…” Killian cleared his throat, unable to continue despite the word holding no power over him anymore.  His wife was alive.  Emma was alive.  “It’s going to take some time, but whatever your mother needs, I’ll give her.  If that means sleeping on the couch for the foreseeable future, then so be it.”

Henry averted his eyes, ran his hands back and forth along his legs for a few minutes before falling still.  “I’m sorry, Killian.  About…what I said.”

“You’re a good man, Henry.”  Killian smiled as well as he could in his state.  “Don’t burden yourself with guilt you didn’t earn.”  Standing, he tousled the boy’s hair and walked with deliberate steps toward the pot of black sludge awaiting his return.

“Thanks, Killian.”

 

—

 

“What did you say to her?”

Henry stood between Killian and David, watching Emma help Beth with her coat.  “Nothing.  She just changed her mind.”

“Just like that?”  Said David.

“Just like that.”

Beth turned to them.  “What are you lot staring at?”

“Nothing.”  Said David and Killian at the same time.

“You ready?”  Asked Henry, breaking from their pack to meet his sister at the door.  “Bye, Mom,” he kissed Emma on the cheek, seemingly on reflex; he stepped back as though he’d been burned by fire.  “Bye, Killian, Grandpa.”  And with that, he was gone.

“Back by three.”  Said Killian to Beth, who nodded before joining Henry in the stairwell.

As if on cue, David said, “I should head out, too.”  He cut his glance between the loft’s two remaining occupants.  “Unless I’m needed here.”

“Sod off, Dave.”

“We need to work on your people skills.”

Emma smiled when he kissed her forehead.  “Bye, Dad.”

One word resonated in Killian’s mind as the door closed behind his father-in-law: Alone.  
Something he and Emma hadn’t been in over a week.

He scratched behind his ear before remembering himself.  ( _“I do not have a bloody nervous tick.”  Emma laughed.  “Okay.”_ )

“Can I get you some breakfast?”  Killian gestured toward the kitchen, as though she’d forgotten its location.

“I’m okay.”

“Something to drink—coffee?  Tea?  Mary Margaret made some fresh pastries this morning.”

Emma smiled.  “You don’t have to entertain me, Hook.”

Killian winced at her use of his old moniker.  “Right.  Of course.  I’ll…leave you to it, then.”  He turned to walk away when she called him back.

“Killian, wait.  I’m sorry—I don’t know why I said that.  It just sort of…slipped.”

“No need to apologize, Love.  It’s been a trying time for all of us.”  He tried to smile, certain she could see straight through him.

“I know it has, and I’m trying, Killian.  Really.  I don’t want you to think I’m oblivious to how this has affected you, and my parents, and…and the kids.”  Emma moved from right foot to left, squaring her shoulders, as though to summon her courage.  “I don’t want you to think I didn’t miss you.  That I didn’t think of you every day we were apart.”

The tremble of her lip did him in.  Crossing the invisible chasm between them, he took her in his arms and held her tight.  She didn’t pull away—on the contrary, she closed her arms around him and buried her face in his neck.

“I don’t know how to be what everyone expects.  I’m not the person I was when I left.”

It took all his strength to step back, but he needed to look her in the eye when he said, “You’re still you,” he brushed her hair back, cradling her face in his hand.  She sighed into his touch, “my love.”

Tears stained her cheeks, and for a moment, Killian could’ve sworn her eyes were brown.  In fact, he was sure of it.  Sharpening his gaze, appraising her as he would a cluster of dark cloud on the horizon, he knew there could be no mistake.  They swirled like a maelstrom, the colors interspersing, whorls of every hue collecting at the centermost point.

And then only green.

“What?”

“Nothing.”  Killian forced the quiver from his voice.  “Nothing…I was only thinking.”  Starting at her shoulder and working its way down her arm, Killian’s hand found hers.  “Do you know one of Beth’s favorite stories?”

“What’s that?”

“Our first date.”

Emma smiled.  “It’s one of my favorites, too.”

“She loves hearing how the fearsome Captain Hook stumbled over his words to ask the woman he loves to join him for dinner.”

The waiting was eternal.  His eyes roved her every feature, on alert for any discrepancy, his heart thudding madly in his chest—wretched organ was out to betray him.

A lifetime later, she ended the battle in his mind.  “Nervous, were you?”

“Supremely.”

“You played it off well.”  She laughed, and suddenly the sound was amiss.  “Is something wrong?”

“Not at all, Love.”  He leaned forward to seal his performance with a kiss—what had David called it?  A Bloody Mary? ( _“Hail.  Hail Mary.  Don’t worry, you’ll get the gist”, “Why the bloody hell is it called football if no one’s using their feet?”_ ).

She pushed him back, her hands planted firmly on his chest.  “Killian, I’m not ready.”

“I understand.”

The thickness of silence surrounded them as Killian searched for an excuse to leave.

“I’ll go wash up.”  He said.  “Will you be all right?”

She smiled sweetly.  “I’ll be fine.”

He moderated his pace, suppressing the overwhelming urge to run.  As soon as he reached his quarters, he closed the door behind him and hastened to the nightstand on his side of the bed, remembering too late that he hadn’t slept in that room for nearly a fortnight in full.

“Shit.”

Turning back, he was halted in his tracks by the woman wearing his wife’s face.  She stood at the threshold, holding his phone in her hand.  “You didn’t ask Emma to your first date.”

“She asked me.”

Cocking her head to one side, the witch pursed her lips.  “That’s unfortunate.”


	8. Chapter 8

Henry skipped his usual offer to stop in at Granny’s—perhaps it was the abundance of sugary, syrupy, jelly-filled substances overwhelming the loft.  Or, more likely, they’d entered into an unspoken covenant: the sooner they arrived at Regina’s, the better.

Beth bounded up the steps, not waiting for her brother, and entered through the front door without knocking, not encounter a single person until she reached the kitchen.  Uncle Robin looked up from his morning coffee while Roland pretended not to be falling asleep in his scrambled eggs.

“Beth.”  Said Robin.  “To what do we owe this unexpected pleasure?”

“Where’s Regina?”

“She’s gone out, but you’re welcome to help yourself to some breakfast—”

“Where?”

“Uh…her vault, I think, but—”

Before he could complete his thought, Beth was halfway to the exit, towing Henry by the arm.

 

—

 

Once arrived, they found Regina poring over a stack of leather-bound books written in a language Beth was positive she’d never grasp.

_“Have you ever seen Spanish?  It looks nothing like this.  Although, I don’t know why I’m surprised.  Your mother was the same way.”_

_“You taught my mom?”_

_“_ Taught _isn’t the word I’d assign to it, but yes.  I did.”_

_“What was she like?”_

_Regina paused with her thoughts, then smiled at the child presently under her tutelage.  “Stubborn.  Like someone else I know.”_

_“Did you really drop her down a ravine?”_

_“I didn’t—” Regina smoothed back her hair.  “Some…students need stronger motivation than others.  Now, where did we leave off yesterday?”_

She didn’t look up until Henry touched her shoulder.  “Henry.”  She shook her head as though breaking from a trance.  “What are you doing here?”

“Do I need an agenda to visit my mom?”

“Of course not,” Regina smiled in the same unguarded manner she did with her husband and stepson, leaning in to kiss Henry’s cheek, “How are you, sweetheart?”

Beth had read stories of the Evil Queen, had heard the unwritten tales from her dad and grandparents, and she knew them to be true.  But much like knowing her dad was Captain Hook, she had difficulty aligning reality with the fairytale.  Regina evil?  Her father a villain?  What was life like before she was born?  Storybrooke must’ve been a dreadful place, to be sure.

“Something’s wrong with Mom.”

She hadn’t noticed it straightaway.  She should have done—gods, perhaps she had.  But she’d written it off as stress.  It was rather an eventful few weeks, wasn’t it?  But she didn’t think trauma could erase marks from a person’s body, ones they’d carried since birth.  She hadn’t meant for Beth to see, surely—why else wear nothing but turtlenecks?  Beth had blamed it on the unseasonable cold until she’d caught a glimpse of Emma’s neck.  Perfectly unblemished.

“Wrong?”  Said Henry, not as incredulously as she would have expected.

“She’s…I don’t know…defective, or something.  When I go to hug her, she’s…cold.”

“She seemed pleasant enough when I talked with her.”  Said Regina.

“You don’t understand, it’s…” Beth bit her bottom lip, searching the contents of Regina’s vault, that the oddly shaped bottles might aid her explanation, “…it’s like what you said about Light and Dark magic, how they feel…different.”

Henry regarded her carefully, wanting her to continue, but not wanting to be faulted for encouraging her—no doubt her dad’s ire still played in his mind.  “Em, what are you saying?”

“Whatever’s inside Mom…it isn’t Light.”

“Is that possible?”  Henry asked Regina.

“I’d say I’m proof that it is.  If one can go from Dark to Light magic, it’s safe to assume the reverse is also plausible.”

“But Emma?  She wouldn’t…”

“We don’t know anything for certain, yet.”

“What if it’s something else?”  Said Beth.  “Something worse?”

“Worse than Emma turning evil?”  Said Henry.

“What if Mom isn’t Mom?”

“Elizabeth,” said Regina, “where is Emma now?”

“At home.  With Dad.”

 

—

 

She didn’t wait for the others to gather their wits—as soon as the thought struck her that her dad might be in danger, that he might be alone with some evil sorceress disguised as her mom, without magic to defend himself, she was off.

The loft sounded as though it were being ripped apart from the inside out.  The floorboards screamed from the strain of holding their form, windows shattered, shelves fell from the walls.  But worst of all were the flurries of fire cutting through the air.

“I’ll kill you first.”

Beth sprinted in the direction of her father’s voice, the temperature dropping a million degrees between the hallway and his room.

“It’s sweet that you think so, Captain.”  This second voice sent a chill straight through her.  It cackled like the walls in the sorceress’ lair.  She didn’t look evil—she looked like the Emma Jones Beth had seen in photographs, except for the snarl curling her lips.

A shot rang in her ears, and then a second, a third, as her father emptied the clip of Grandpa David’s gun into the wall behind his assailant, what surely would have been headshots had the witch not disappeared in a cloud of purple smoke, only to reappear moments later, crouched over him.  Hand at his throat, appearing more like a claw than a human appendage, she pulled him to his feet.

It was then that his gaze locked on the door, where his daughter stood, dumbfounded and frozen.

“Beth…” he croaked as the witch’s grip tightened, “…run.”

She needed to act.  Fast.

The witch whipped her head around, like the demon from a horror movie Henry wasn’t supposed to let her watch, and seeing Beth, she laughed.  A terrible sound.  Deep and resonant and out of place amidst such delicate features.  Would she ever be able to look at her mom again without terror closing its clutches around her soul?

“You should listen to Daddy, _princess_.”  The last word landed like the hiss of a snake, and she returned her attentions to the man slowly succumbing to the lack of oxygen.

Watching the pigment drain from his skin broke Beth of her stasis.  She closed her eyes and focused on every good memory her dad had given her.

Sailing trips on Sundays, just the two of them and Henry.  He’d tell them stories of Uncle Liam, and of Henry’s dad.  When night fell, he’d teach them to navigate using the stars.

Tales told at her bedside on nights she couldn’t sleep for dreaming of a mother she’d never known.

Ice cream for breakfast and pancakes for dinner, to the chagrin of Grandma Snow.

Sitting through _Peter Pan_ a thousand times without complaint.  Well, with minimal complaint.  She once heard him grumble that he was glad the “bloody demon” was dead.

Making a deal with Henry’s grandpa for a portal to Arendelle, all so he could prove he had, in fact, met Anna and Elsa.  Olaf was a separate matter, entirely.  The look on his face when encountering a talking snowman would be imprinted on her mind for the better part of forever.

She never felt safer or more hopeful than when she was with him.  He was the best person she knew, and it broke her heart that he didn’t believe it.  He didn’t think she noticed the look that sometimes came over him, the one that questioned his capabilities as a single father.  The same one that longed for reassurance from the one person who wasn’t alive to give it.

_“She would’ve loved you.”_

A surge of energy bounded forth, shattering the foundations of time and space, breaking the boundaries of all that was concrete.  She was infinite and the world was wrought of matter, malleable and unsound.  Created to be reformed.

Opening her eyes, she stared out into empty space.  Gray sky and wind and falling ash.

“How the blazes did you do that?”

Turning to him, she remembered to breathe.  “Daddy?  What happened?”


	9. Chapter 9

He had no sodding clue.

One moment his daughter stood motionless, watching her mother’s double choking the life from him, and the next…

Gods, what the hell had he just seen?

She closed her eyes and Beth was gone, replaced by blinding light.  A screech, as deafening and as destructive as a Fury’s cry flooded his ears until it was no longer a question of if they’d bleed, but when.  And then, nothing.

Silence and ash and a gaping chasm where his room had been.  The witch was gone, disintegrated if he had to guess.

He opened his mouth to respond—or had it been agape this whole time?  Awestruck by what he wasn’t sure he’d seen?  But before coherent words could form, Henry ran up behind Beth, followed closely by Regina.  They peered over the edge and into the flat below.  Killian, all the while, thanked the gods their neighbors weren’t home this particular morning, as he tried not to focus on the miniscule corner of support his daughter had left him.  Only it and the square upon which Beth was stationed remained in this portion of the loft.

“Beth, sweetheart, I don’t suppose you could conjure a bridge?”  He said.

Regina waved her hand, and a moment later Killian was in their midst.  The front door slammed, and each of them braced themselves for combat: Regina readied a fireball in each hand, Beth went rigid, hands fisted at her sides, Henry moved to the hall closet and retrieved David’s sword, tossing its companion to Killian.

But their panic was for naught.

David, Mary Margaret, and Neal surveyed the field of battle they’d recently called home, stepping carefully between piles of rubble and upturned furniture.  Neal set aside his electronic device to study a sizeable hole in the brick wall.

“Someone want to explain to me what the hell happened?”  David said with hands on hips.

“Your daughter tried to kill her husband.”  Said Regina.

Mary Margaret gasped.

“Mom.”  Henry chided.  “It’s more complicated than that.”

“She wasn’t Mom.”  Said Beth.

Hand to her heart, Mary Margaret voiced the question on all their minds.  “Who was she?”

 

—

 

“Clearly she’s someone who’s studied Emma, to impersonate her with this degree of success.”  Said Regina, sounding almost impressed.  “It’s one thing to look like someone, but to master her mannerisms and syntax so that even her own husband—” Catching Killian’s eye, she cut short her praise.

“Why?”  Said Mary Margaret.  “Why would someone do this?”

Regina’s eyes drifted to Beth, seated under the protection of her father’s arm, an action not lost on Killian.

“Why do any of them do anything?  To take things that don’t bloody belong to them.”

_“Did you really think it would be that easy?”  The witch chortled; the sound echoed like the comingling of two voices from the same mouth.  “That you could just waltz in and take what you wanted?”_

_Killian thought back to the moment of their escape, to the awareness that it’d all been too simple, to the voice of reason screaming in the back of his thoughts, and to his ignoring its insistence because his wife was alive.  They’d found Emma and the sight of her, the feel of her arms around him, her scent intoxicating his senses—these things were better than any dream or memory his mournful mind retained._

_“And here I thought the legendary Captain Hook would prove a challenge.”  A triumphant grin parted her lips.  “But they were right about you—you’ve gone soft.  You’re pathetic.  An empty shell of a man, clinging to false hope like a child chasing stars.”_

“I think you’re overlooking a vital detail.”  All eyes locked on the former evil queen.  “She’s dead, whoever she was.”

“So where’s Emma?”  Said Henry.

_“What have you done with my wife?”_

_She leaned in close, whispering in his ear.  “You know the answer.”_

_“You’re lying—you’ve hidden her somewhere.  Why else go to the trouble of tricking us?”_

_The witch exaggerated a frown.  “If you aren’t the most precious sap I’ve ever seen.”  She latched her hand around his jaw, drew him forward, and kissed him with excessive force, overwhelming his tongue with a taste like death—and he’d been near its gates enough times to know.  His veins were flooded with cold, his heart with darkness deeper than the Never Sea.  And all he knew in that moment was an all-encompassing melancholy.  “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it, Captain?”_

Regina looked at the expectant faces all around, hesitant to answer.  “I don’t know, sweetheart.”

“She’s in your mirror.”  Said Beth.

Regina’s gaze drifted to Killian, as though silently requesting permission to respond.  Killian nodded.

“Elizabeth, dear, that was very likely a trick by the woman pretending to be your mother.  She wanted to lure you to her lair, and when that didn’t work, she set a trap for the rest of us.”

“But what if Mom’s there and the witch was using her to…” Beth’s words trailed off at her family’s pitying looks.

“Remember what happened last time you said ‘what if’ and the rest of us listened?”  Asked Neal.

_Confusion flooded her eyes, the irises of which covered the entire spectrum of possible colors in a matter of minutes.  The longer she stared, the angrier she became.  She loosened her iron grip around his jaw and reached toward his chest, curling her fingers in a fashion he’d seen before—first from the Imp and then Cora, and far too many times thereafter._

_When nothing happened, she looked up to see Killian smiling.  “Something wrong?”_

_With a loud cry, she struck the bravado clean off his face.  Wrenching him toward her once more, this time with a crushing grip on his throat, she growled, “I tortured your wife until the only thing she knew was your name.  She repeated it over and over until finally pleading for me to end her suffering.  I’ll not be as merciful to the girl.  And trust my word on this: I_ will _have her.”_

_“I’ll kill you first.”_

_“It’s sweet that you think so, Captain.”_

_She was across the room before the smoke settled, moving about with each shot fired from David’s gun.  With three rounds left, Killian reserved one for each eye, and a third through the heart for good measure—but the demon was too fast._

Seeing Beth’s frown, Regina said, “I suppose it’s worth one last try.  Just to be sure.”

“Really?”  Beth sat up straight, eyes alight with hope.

“If it’s okay with your father.”

“Daddy, can we?”

After a moment’s contemplation, wherein Killian considered the consequences of nurturing and of quelling his daughter’s undying faith in her mother’s survival, he said, “Aye.  Just to be sure.”

_Gods forgive me._

_—_

 

“Elizabeth, if you would.”  Regina gestured toward the looking glass and the child obeyed.

Standing straight, shoulders back, chin held high, Beth closed her eyes, and what transpired next further solidified Killian’s confidence.  She was a bloody marvel, his daughter.

The image depicted inside the antique frame changed from their collective reflection, huddled together in breathless anticipation—David, Mary Margaret, Neal, Henry, Regina, and him—to the vision of a single person, staring back at them with anxious emerald eyes.

Killian stepped forward and instructed Beth to stay with her brother, an order she heeded without protest.

“Killian?”  Emma said in a soft voice that threatened to break his heart, more so than the silent tears that followed.

Paying no mind to the impulse that would see him giving in, see him accept this Emma as the one he’d lost without proper inquiry, he cleared his throat and spoke in as detached a tone as he could manage.  “Where did we meet, you and I?”

She furrowed her brow.  “The Enchanted Forest.”

“How?”

“Killian, what—?”

“The circumstances of our first meeting—describe them to me.”

She gave him a curious look, but proceeded to answer.  “I found you—you were hiding in a pile of dead bodies—”

“Were you alone?”

“No.”

“Who accompanied you?”

“Why are you asking me so many questions?”

Killian hardened his stare, clenching his hand at his side.  “Who accompanied you to the Enchanted Forest?”

“You know who accompanied me.”

“I’m not the one whose replicate has recently been wreaking havoc.”

“My what?”  Emma took a step back.  “What happened?”

“We’ll get to that.”

The slightest irritation crept into Emma’s tone.  “Once I pass your test?”

Killian arched his brow at her.

“Fine.”  She shook her head.  “I fell into a portal when banishing a wraith to what we thought was oblivion.  Mary Margaret jumped in after me.  We were taken hostage by Mulan and Aurora, and after killing an ogre and realizing Lancelot was really Cora, and torching the wardrobe, we went back to the refugee camp, where we found you.  Hiding in a heap of corpses, under Cora’s command.  Satisfied?”

“Continue.”

She took a deep breath, tempering her impatience.  If she proved herself to be Killian’s Emma, he’d have hell to pay for delaying her rescue—which he’d gladly do, if the impossible revealed itself to be true.

“You lied about being a blacksmith, and not very well.  We tied you to a tree and I threatened to feed you to an ogre if you didn’t tell me who you really were.  We made a deal to climb a beanstalk together to retrieve a magic compass that would aid in getting us home to Storybrooke.”

There was no deception behind her stare, no false information given, but Killian didn’t know how to trust he wasn’t making a dire mistake.  What happened when she turned out to be the witch in disguise a second time?  How many times would he fall for the same ruse?

He couldn’t put Beth through that again.  Or Henry.  Or any of them.

But life was made of moments, and the witch couldn’t possibly know them all.

“Atop the beanstalk, in the giant’s lair, you chained me up and left me for dead—”

“I didn’t—”

“What did you say to me before walking away?”

Emma smirked, looking him in the eye, and his heart pounded a new rhythm, as though waking from a seven-year sleep.  “I can’t take a chance that I’m wrong about you.”

 

—

 

“How the hell did you come by that conclusion?”  Regina demanded to know.

“I spent three hundred years aboard that ship—I’d recognize it anywhere.”

“He’s right.”  Said Emma from beyond the glass.  “She kept me here for the same reason she let me watch my kids grow up without me.  She thought surrounding me with my husband’s things was a higher form of torture.”

“I’ll kill her.”  Killian didn’t realize he’d said these words aloud until catching his daughter’s eye.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves—or behind ourselves.”  Said David.  “Are we sure she isn’t dead?  You said you saw her disintegrate.”

“That didn’t seem to stop Maleficent from regenerating.”

“We can worry about her _after_ we get my mom back.”

“Henry’s right.”  Said David.

“Only one problem, Mate.”  Said Killian.  “The _Jolly Roger_ is in the Enchanted Forest.”

“So how do we get to it?”

“Beth.”

Killian turned on Regina with a resurgence of the fury he’d felt when she’d informed him of what he’d thought at the time to be a séance.  ( _“We used magic to communicate with Emma.”)_

_I’ll kill her_ , had been his first thought then, too.

“Unless you’ve got a magic bean I don’t know about.”

“My daughter has had far too much involvement in all of this.  We’ll find our own way to Emma.”

“Like it or not,” said Regina, “she’s _involved_ because her magic is more powerful than I’ve seen from anyone who isn’t the Dark One.”

Killian looked at Beth, reluctant to admit that Regina was right.  There had to be another way.

“Daddy, it’s okay.  I want to help.”  She took his hand.  “I want to get Mom.”

Her eagerness chipped away at his resolve, but it didn’t crumble completely until he faced Emma, knowing her to be his.

 

—

 

It was agreed by all that David should be the one to accompany Killian and Beth to the Enchanted Forest.  The others would stay behind in case the sorceress hadn’t, in fact, died.  Regina set up a protection spell ( _“Stronger than the last, I hope,” earned Killian a scowl.)_ , while Mary Margaret took the boys to an undisclosed location, lest any of them be interrogated—they weren’t taking chances anymore.  If something could go wrong, Killian was certain it would.

“How does it work, exactly?”  David asked Beth.

The child shrugged her shoulders.  “When I was at the witch’s mansion, I just thought of home, and then I was here.”

“But will it work between worlds?”

“It has to.”  Said Regina from across the loft.

David nodded, content for now.  “Anytime you’re ready, kiddo.”

“Hold off a minute, Dave.”  Said Killian.  “There’s something I need first.”

They followed him into Beth’s room, where he attempted to move the bed by his own strength.  With a roll of her eyes and a wave of her hand, Regina relocated it to the opposite wall.

“No need to thank me.”  She said.

No gratitude was expressed as Killian kneeled, searching for the floorboard that would give under his persuasion.  Removing the prosthetic he’d employed for the entirety of Beth’s life, and setting it aside, he pulled his hook from the enclosure and, bringing it to his brace, locked it into position.


	10. Chapter 10

She landed on her hands and knees, and winced for the scraping of her skin, the tearing of her jeans.  Countless retellings of the same tales, and no one had prepared her for the pain of journey by portal.

Standing, she dusted off her coat and surveyed her surroundings.  The clock tower read 8:15, and the neon sign at Granny’s Diner glowed like a beacon in the fog.

“We did it.”  She laughed.  “Guys, we—”

But in turning to either side, she saw that she was alone.  The portal at her back remained open, pulsing like a tear in the fabric of Main Street.  Had they simply not come through yet?  She didn’t think it was possible to get lost with these things, but she was still young in the ways of inter-world travel.

Attempting to step through to retrieve the ones who were meant to come with her, she met with an invisible force hindering her path—like running into a brick wall, only instead of brick, there was an idyllic scene of the Enchanted Forest, quilted like a patch onto another land.  A second try propelled her backward, and the portal closed.

“No,” she got to her feet, feeling around the air as though it were a solid structure—but it was, wasn’t it?  It had been only moments ago, “no, no, no!  Come back!”

She closed her eyes and thought of her parents, just like Regina instructed.  There was no shortage of emotion—panic counted in that respect, didn’t it?  Her hands fisted and unfurled at her sides; she licked her lips, refocused.

As terror swelled in her chest, she took off in a dead run toward the loft.

 

—

 

It was locked.  Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem—she was taught to carry her key with her, even when she was accompanied by an adult.  But the circumstances surrounding their departure hadn’t exactly been conducive to proper planning.

Her knocks were frantic, she knew.  She couldn’t help it.

“Daddy?”  She cried.

_Please, please, please be home._

When the door opened, it wasn’t her father on the other side.  “Henry!”  She leapt forward, securing her arms around his waist.  “I’m so glad you’re here—wait—” she pulled back.  “Why are you here?  You were supposed to wait for us—you were supposed to—”

“Do we…” his laugh was the nervous sort her dad used during uncomfortable situations—like when she’d asked him how babies were made, “I’m sorry, do we know each other?”

“Henry, it’s me.  It’s Beth.”

He eyes were empty.

“Your sister.  Beth.”

“I...I’m sorry, but I don’t have a sister.”

“That’s not funny.”  She pushed past him, into the apartment.  “I can’t find Dad or—”

Beth stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of a slender redhead seated on the couch, the first of a thousand alterations made to the only home she’d ever known.  How had they rebuilt the whole thing so quickly?

“Who’s this?”  Asked the redhead, and Beth froze at the sound of her voice.

“I’m not sure.”

“Henry,” Beth whispered, “Where’s Grandma?”  Facing him, her tone found its full strength.  “Why didn’t you stay with her?  What happened to this place?  We were only gone three days, I don’t…” she swallowed against the mounting emotion forming as a lump in her throat.  “I don’t understand.”

After a shared glance with the redhead, Henry donned his coat, dropped his keys in its right pocket, and placed a gentle hand on Beth’s shoulder.  “Are you hungry?  We can grab a bite at Granny’s, and then I can take you to the sheriff’s station, see if we can’t sort this out.  Find your parents.”

She nodded as a tear trailed down her cheek, and followed him to the door.

The redhead met them there, and in a display that twisted Beth’s stomach beyond anything in her short history, kissed her brother square on the mouth.

“Be back in a bit.”  Said Henry.

“Take as long as you need, Babe.”  The redhead ran her fingers through Henry’s hair, smiling.

“I’m not hungry.”  Said Beth.  “Maybe just the sheriff’s station.”

 

—

 

Unlike the apartment, everything at the station seemed in order.  Nothing out of place, nothing altered.  No red-haired demon spawn latching her claws into anyone.

Beth shuddered for the memory of her bright red lips inching towards—

_Ugh_.

During her next lesson, she needed to ask Regina about memory spells.  But that seemed such a long way off.  Once she figured out what was happening to Henry, once she found her parents, and everything was set right again—

A flash of gold in her periphery caught her attention.  Down the hallway walked someone who would never fail to be the most beautiful person Beth had ever seen.  She sighed with relief, thinking perhaps things weren’t as dire as they appeared.

“Mom, I was so scared.  I was all alone, and I couldn’t find Dad, and—”

“Whoa, hey, kid,” Emma looked to Henry then back at Beth, “slow down.  Are you lost?”

_Oh no._

_Please, not her._

“You’re Emma Jones, aren’t you?”

_I’ve only just found her._

“Uh, Swan, actually.  I’m the sheriff.  Mr. Mills, here, tells me you need help finding your parents.  What are their names?”


	11. Chapter 11

Ten…nine…eight…

With each passing second, a flick of his wrist.

Seven…six…

He ignored the whispered insistence of the wind strengthening its siren call.  It tempted him with promises the gods themselves could not keep.  Spoke with a voice like silk to ears that still bore the horrors of the life he’d lost.

Five…

One word, like a heartbeat, echoed louder than the rest.  He refused it entrance into his mind, where its roots would grow, where they would forge avenues to a heart dark and desolate.  Unmade by the crushing grip of a creature he’d failed to skin.

It belonged to men who believed themselves capable of being whole again.

The only motivation known to Killian Jones—the driving force that kept him alive even now, when all evidence pointed to him being a resident of that cell for the better part of eternity—was sheer stubbornness of will.

He’d be damned before taking the coward’s way.

But he sensed the wind beyond those walls, tasted the salt of a nearby sea, heard the gulls circling overhead.  He closed his eyes and saw the swell of angry waves, felt them ripple up through the helm, a coursing rhythm that flooded his veins.  With a deep breath, centuries of emptiness melted away.

The queen was clever, he’d give her that.  It was no accident that he’d been left his hook, the instrument by which he now kept time.  Why kill a man quickly when one can watch him unravel into madness?  But she’d underestimated his determination, his love of a challenge amidst impossible odds.

The only sound to fill the void was the quiet clanking of metal as his hook counted down seconds against the bedframe.

Four…three…two…

Each morning at precisely five minutes past sunrise, his sentence was punctuated by the whine of ungreased wheels.  And precisely two minutes following this, as the tension settled firmly in Killian’s jaw, came thunderous pounding and a deep voice at the door to inform him of the hour.

_“Mealtime!”_

The rectangular slot in the cell door would slide open and a tray of inedible slop would greet him.

One…

Killian opened his eyes when nothing passed through the door save silence.  He waited, allowing for the unlikely chance he’d miscalculated.  Rising to a seated position, he held his breath.  Listened.

He crossed the cell in three long strides, peered into the corridor through the insult of a window.

Of sounds and carts and signs of life.

Excitement saw him pacing, back and forth and back.  Paranoia saw him checking the vacant hall more frequently than all previous days combined.  It was skepticism that ultimately saw him settled.  He scratched behind his ear, wondering if the queen had finally won and he had, at long last, lost his grip on reality.  Or if…

He shook his head, cursing that wretched four-letter word, the mere traces of which had become the bane of his existence—more so, nearly, than any crocodile ever had—and scoffing at his own gullibility.

It was growing increasingly improbably that he’d leave this cell with his wits intact—if he left at all.

As the seconds stretched into hours, Killian’s suspicions, daft though they inarguably were, refused to dissipate.  By the time the thunder came, he’d been set on edge.

“You’re late.”  He said as the tray—red, not black—met his eager grasp.

“You know what they say about patience.”  A voice squeaked back at him, high-pitched and—

“You’re a woman.”

“Quick on the uptake, aren’t you?”  The nurse, a petite specimen of auburn hair, slammed the slot closed with a roll of her eyes.

Killian watched through the window as she continued on to the next cell.

He worked the details over in his mind, but for all his efforts he was unable to reach an explanation as to how, for the first time since he’d awoken inside that cell after being engulfed by purple haze, something—anything—had changed.


	12. Chapter 12

Beth sighed, dejected.  “Coming here was a bad idea.”

Emma looked to Henry for clarification.  “Are you saying you…don’t need help?”

Beth shook her head, staring down at her feet to avoid the infamous lie detector she’d heard so much about.

“Where do you live?  I’ll take you home.”

“I don’t need a ride home—I’ll be fine.  Thanks, anyway.”

“Hey,” Emma knelt in front of her, the kindness in her expression threatening to shatter Beth’s composure, “you sure you’re okay?  Showing up at someone’s door and claiming to be their long-lost sister isn’t exactly—”

“Normal?”

“Well…” Emma hesitated, “…yeah.”

“I’m sorry.  I got…confused.”

Beth couldn’t figure what’d happened.  Her mother had known her an hour ago.  If it weren’t for Henry’s unaltered age, she would’ve thought she’d conjured a time portal by mistake and brought them all back to the original curse.  The town’s atmosphere had shifted, and an ominous gray sky loomed overhead like the promise of malign fate.  She wondered if its rain would take the form of broken glass.

“Come on,” Emma said, standing to grab her badge and keys from her desk, “I’ve got just the cure for what ails you.”

 

—

 

“It’s not for everyone.”  Emma slid the cup across the table.  “But it’s always helped me out of a bad mood.”

Beth felt the urge to cry and laugh at the same time.  “My dad puts cinnamon, too.”

“What’s your dad’s name?”

“You don’t know him.”  Beth frowned into her hot chocolate.

_But you did.  He found you and you cried and hugged and—okay, so I turned away when your faces got too close, but there was probably kissing, which is gross, but magical at the same time because you were happy.  I was happy._

_We did it._

_Why don’t you remember?_

“I know a lot of people.”  Said Emma.  “Could’ve run into him here at Granny’s.”

Beth didn’t respond.

“Does he work around here?”

She couldn’t tell this Emma that her dad was a pirate—reformed, of course.  Or that they were married, that they’d known true contentment, that they were separated by a horrible, wretched, monstrous woman, but he’d spent seven years missing her.  She couldn’t tell this Emma anything.

_Dad wasn’t the only one who missed you._

Grandpa David and Grandma Snow, and Henry.  Regina would never admit to it, but Beth recognized the sorrowful tenor of her voice when regaling Beth with anecdotes from earlier days.

Gods, she was right there, and she was perfect.  But how to wake her up?

Beth shook her head.

“All right, well, you know I can’t just leave you.  I’m gonna have to drop you somewhere—shouldn’t you be in school about now?”

“Minimum day.”

“Hm.”

She felt Emma’s eyes on her, scrutinizing—like what Beth did with her dad, only this time _she_ was on the receiving end of a stare that was impossible to withstand.

“Okay.  You win.  You don’t have to tell me anything.”  Emma leaned back in her booth.  “But it’s my responsibility to make sure you’re safe.  You understand that, right?”

Beth nodded as panic stirred in her mind.  Where was she supposed to go when her dad was unaccounted for?  And if she found him?  She didn’t know if she’d survive a Killian Jones with no memory of her.  Where Grandma and Grandpa were, she couldn’t guess.  Not to mention the disheartening fact that her brother was, for all evidence, living with evil incarnate.

And her magic wasn’t working, if the portal was any indication.  She’d since tried making her hot chocolate disappear—she’d have to explain to her mother why it was suddenly gone, but on the list of strange things of which Emma would need convincing, magic seemed the least troubling.

What went wrong from the time the portal opened to the time she landed alone on the other side?  In a Storybrooke that didn’t know her—didn’t know itself.  What happened during their brief stint in the Enchanted Forest?  It wasn’t like the time her parents rewrote the past.  Was it?

“He works at the docks.”  She said when Emma’s piercing gaze became too much.

“Well, that’s a start.”

 

—

 

A frigid wind met them at the wharf, seeming to strengthen its assault the more they shivered.  But Beth would not be so easily deterred.  She and Emma huddled together on a bench overlooking the ocean, unspeaking for hours.

When the sun began its descent, Emma said, “I think it’s time we find somewhere for you to stay tonight.  Any relatives that can look after you?”

“He’ll be here.”  Beth insisted.

_He has to be here._

Henry had told her enough about the first curse for her to know that, even with false memories, parts of people’s true characters remained.  Grandma Snow still had an affinity for birds—and for Grandpa David, but Beth wasn’t allowed to talk about that.  It stood to reason that if her dad was cursed, he’d still be drawn to the sea.  She hoped.

As night grew nearer, Beth’s assurance wavered.  She was about to concede defeat and let Emma take her somewhere to sleep when a dark figure emerged from the fog, approaching with a walk Beth recognized immediately.

“That’s him.”

He looked out at the sea, clad in leather and sporting his hook, the legends of which were endless.  Only recently had she seen it in action.  The pants were another issue, entirely—indeed, they were the first of many inconsistencies to make her stifle a laugh.

“You’re kidding.”

Beth watched her mom check out her dad, and bit her lip to suppress a smile.  “Could I talk to him a minute before you come over and…sheriff?”

“Sure, kid.”  Said Emma, not taking her eyes off the out-of-place pirate.

Beth took tentative steps toward him, careful not to startle.  “Dad?”

Glancing over his shoulder with a vacant expression, he scoffed.  “You have the wrong man, Lass.”

She’d known the chances of him remembering her, but still she’d hoped—with all her might, she’d hoped he would be the exception to whatever had befallen her family.

“You don’t know me.”

Turning to face her fully, in as cocksure a manger as Beth had ever seen, he gave her an appraising onceover.  “I make a habit of avoiding dwarves.”

Time for plan B.

“You’re just as my mom described.”

“Oh?  Who’s your mum?”

“Well, my birth mom’s name was Milah, but I never met her.”

His countenance was exponentially changed.  A thousand conflicting thoughts flashed in his eyes as his mouth hung open.

She saw him working through the timeline in his head, once the initial shock faded a bit.  “How old are you?”

“Physically, I’m seven.  But I’ve…encountered quite a few curses, spent some years in…uh…Wonderland—perhaps you’ve heard of it?  It’s much like Neverland in the way time passes.  Or…doesn’t pass, as the case may be.”

He shook his head.  “It’s not possible.”  Yet, somehow, when he looked at her, he knew it was.  “When?”

“It was during the year you were separated.”  His posture went rigid with every piece to fall into place.  “You were captured, but she and the crew didn’t know who did it—they searched and searched, but—”

“They never found me.”

“She couldn’t bear the thought of raising me alone, so—”

He furrowed his brow, and Beth knew she would never forgive herself for the pain that’d crept across his blue eyes.  “She gave you away?”

“She wanted to give me my best chance.”

He seated himself at a nearby bench.  “And when I returned, it was too late.”

It was a tale she’d concocted on the walk from Granny’s.  She needed to persuade him of the only truth that mattered right now.  In his current state, there was no way he’d believe that he and the pretty sheriff were married and madly in love and had a family, that they’d fought monsters and broken curses, that once they’d realized the power of True Love, there’d been nothing they couldn’t overcome.  It was better this than not spending time with him—than being alone in a town where everyone was cursed.

When her lip started to quiver and tears to roll down her cheeks, her dad reached his hand to wipe them away.  “Hey,” he said softly, sounding like himself, “I’m sorry.  I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay.”  She noticed Emma walking toward them, and spoke quickly, “Okay, so, the sheriff is going to ask you some questions about where we live and what you do for a living—you cannot, under any circumstances, tell her you’re Captain Hook.  In fact, lose the attachment, altogether.”  Beth closed her hand around the curved metal and released it from its brace, her dad watching her all the while with an expression that openly questioned how she knew to do that.  “You work at the docks, cleaning fish.  We live in an apartment in town.  My name’s Beth—I don’t think I told you—short for Elizabeth.  Remember, I’m seven.  We’re happy and functional and my mom’s dead.”  His eyes widened at her bluntness and she grimaced.  “You knew that already.”

“Hey.”  Emma stepped nearer their conversation, in full civil-servant mode.  “Everything okay?”

“Swan?”

Emma eyed him curiously.  “Have we met?”

“I…believe we have.”  Hook squinted, attempting to retrieve the memory.  He stood and offered his hand, which Emma accepted.  “Killian Jones.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Strange.  You seem quite familiar.”

Beth’s heartbeat picked up as her parents gazed at each other, still holding hands.  After a while of neither speaking, Emma fluttered her lashes and backed away, securing both hands in the back pockets of her jeans.  “Ever been arrested?”

Hook smiled.  “Once or twice.”

“Right, so,” Emma brushed the hair behind her ear, “care to tell me why your daughter was wandering around town today when she should’ve been in school?”

He turned to Beth with a scowl.  He may have had no memory of being a dad, but the _look_ was far from gone—she wondered if it’d been ingrained in his subconscious somewhere.

Facing Emma, he plastered on a cheeky smile.  “You know how children can be.  Rest assured, she’ll receive due discipline.”

Emma nodded, despite appearing uncertain.  “Just see that it doesn’t happen again.”

Beth watched her dad watching her mom walk away, and wondered how it’d taken so long for them to get together (embarrassingly obvious, these two), and she smiled to herself, thinking that perhaps this curse wouldn’t be as hard to break as the first one.


	13. Chapter 13

Killian Jones was no stranger to the improbable, but as he stared into the emerald eyes of a child who claimed to be the product of an affair that took place three centuries prior, he was nearly unmade.  His own physical age negated the argument he might’ve made in regards to hers—by all accounts, he shouldn’t have lived long enough to fall victim to this new curse.  But, gods, how was it possible?

“Okay, first thing—the leather has _got_ to go.”

Killian eyed his attire, seeing nothing unfavorable, but before he could utter a retort, the child took off walking.

“And we’re going to need a place to live if we’re going to break the curse, so you’ll need to get a job—”

“You know about the curse?”

She stopped in her tracks, her face scrunched up in contemplation.  “Sort of.  I mean I know there _is_ a curse—what other explanation can there be for—” Her eyes flitted briefly to his, and she took up her previous pace.  “Do you have any money?”

“I’ve a few doubloons in my purse.”

“Gosh Dad, could you sound more ancient?”

He sucked air through his teeth.  “I know you’re a bit worked up, Lass, but Killian will do.  Or Hook, if you prefer.”

“Oh,” she slowed, her gaze faltering momentarily, “right.  Sorry.”  Brushing the hair behind her ear, she blinked away the emotion clouding her eyes.  “Do you have enough for a room at Granny’s, you think?  Temporarily, of course.  We can’t stay there forever—”

“Beth, was it?”  He halted her with his hand on her arm, persuaded her round.  “We can’t…”

_We can’t pick up like we’re family._

_We’ve only just met._

_All I have is your word and a fantastical tale of curses and Wonderland and—_

Why couldn’t he voice any of the thoughts commanding him to run?  What was she to him other than an inconvenience?  He hardly broke out of that wretched windowless prison to be burdened by a precocious seven year old, no matter her resemblance to his younger self.  Gods, she even bore the same birthmark on her brow as the brother he’d buried at sea.

_Bloody hell._

“We can’t…draw further attention to ourselves.  If we’re to do this, it’ll serve to be a bit more cautious.”

Beth smiled at him, and he was reminded of a childhood spent following Liam around as though he’d hung the stars by which they navigated the realms.  How could so small a person harbor so much adoration—and for a man she didn’t know?

 

—

 

She was quiet, seated at the edge of a large bed, twiddling her thumbs.

_“Sorry, no twin beds available.”  Said the unreasonable old woman operating the till._

Beth had been quiet on the walk to the quaint establishment, her eyes downcast the entire way.  Indeed, the lass hadn’t spoken a single word since they’d encountered the strange man on the main road—Nolan, if memory served.

Killian had known her scarcely an afternoon, and still, the silence left him unsettled.

“You seem vexed, Love.”

Some of the previous light returned to her eyes when she looked up at him.  “I’m okay.  Just tired, I guess—it’s been a long day.”

“Exceedingly.”  Killian agreed.

She hopped down from the bed.  “I’m gonna shower, if that’s okay.”

“Aye.”  He watched her trudge to the lavatory, unclear on when it was he’d learned the term _shower_.  “Ten minutes.”

She flashed him a wide smile, lingering a moment before shutting the door.

 

—

 

_Swathed in gold, with eyes of pure emerald, she wore the grin of a predator sizing up her prey.  “I’m gonna let you in on a little secret: I’m pretty good at knowing when someone is lying to me.”_

_The sound of his responding voice rang flat in his mind, failing to achieve the same level of confidence as the woman leaning forward to level a hardened stare.  “I’m telling you the truth.”_

_She didn’t believe him, that much was evidenced by her slow stance.  But Killian continued with his ruse._

_“I know this land well—I can guide you.”_

_His head was wrenched back by an iron grip on his hair.  “You’re not gonna guide us_ anywhere _until you tell us who you really are.”  It was then that he felt the cold steel of a dagger against his throat—_

“Killian?”

The first thing he saw was a set of emerald eyes looking down at him from the mattress edge, and it took him a moment to remember who they belonged to.  “What is it, Love?”

“I can’t sleep.”

“Try.”

Killian closed his eyes but felt her gaze fixed on his face.

“Could you tell me a story?”

With a sigh, he ran through the countless tales of which he was an integral part—all inappropriate for a lass of seven.  “Er…I’m not much for storytelling, Love.”  He glanced at her sad eyes, unmoved from their mark.  “Why don’t you tell me about your adventures in Wonderland—been there once, myself.  The details are a bit of a bore.”

The corners of her eyes crinkled with a smile the bed deftly concealed.  “We should really make a plan, you know.”  She said, sitting up.  “This curse isn’t going to break itself.”

Humoring her, Killian asked, “What do you have in mind?”

“True Love’s Kiss.”

_Smart lass._

“Between?”

“Emma and Henry—that’s how it worked last time.”  Her face was stricken by panic.  “I mean…I’ve heard of curses being broken by True Love’s Kiss between mother and son.”

“The sheriff has a son?”

“Yes, but they don’t remember each other.”

“And your plan is what?  To make them?”

“Precisely.”

Killian smiled.  But the moment was brief, as the finer points of his agreement with the queen resurfaced in his sleep-addled mind.

_“Captain,” a silky voice sounded from across the room as he shut the door behind him, “you’re looking well.”_

_“Wish I could say the same, Your Majesty.”_

_She grinned, but there was no trace of humor in her immaculate features, pristinely painted.  “How did you manage your escape?  I was assured such a thing was impossible.”_

_Killian brandished his hook.  “Pirate.”_

_“Hm…” she pushed back her chair, unimpressed.  “This does present a problem.  You see, as mayor, I can’t have an escaped psych patient running rampant in my streets.”_

_“And as queen?”_

_She removed her thick, red-rimmed spectacles, and let them fall to her breast, suspended by thick thread on either side.  “As queen, your presence outside the sanitarium puts quite a damper on my plans.  But,” she sauntered toward him, exaggerating the sway of her hips, “I’ve always prided myself on being open to negotiation.”_

_“I’m not here to negotiate.”  Killian hissed._

_“I gleaned as much from the way you swaggered in,” she gave what Killian could only guess was an imitation of his gait—grossly flamboyant, if you asked him, “slamming my door like the uncultured degenerate you are.  Mm,” she ran her fingers along his upturned collar, “my guess is you’ve come harboring ill will—twenty-eight years is a dreadful long time to be left to one’s thoughts.”_

_“Twenty-eight years?”_

_Her fingers worked their way farther down his coat.  “I’d wager you intend to jab your hook into the side of my neck.”  She shot him a devilish grin.  “Am I correct,_ Captain _?”_

_Killian gritted his teeth.  “Indeed.”_

_“Go ahead.”  She tilted her chin to one side, pulled her long red hair across the opposite shoulder.  “Give it your best shot.  I won’t even put up a fight.”_

_“Where’s the fun in that?”_

_“I guess you’re right.  No fun at all.  Considering it wouldn’t have worked anyway.”  She stomped back to her desk, pulling an item from the top drawer.  “Do you know what this is?”_

_“A scroll.”_

_She tapped the tip of her nose with her forefinger, the nail painted bright red to match her lips.  “Not the witless pirate, after all.  Yes, my dear Captain, this is a scroll—more importantly, it’s a contract.  Penned, in point of fact, by the very crocodile you’ve made it your life’s pursuit to fillet.”_

_Killian clenched his jaw, fisted his hand at his side._

_“And here, at the bottom,” she pointed to an elaborate signature, “is my John Hancock.”  She lay the parchment out across the desk.  “Have a look.”_

_Taking calculated steps, Killian approached, reading over the script with masked curiosity, and cursed violently come contract’s end.  “It appears we are at an impasse.”_

_“Oh, quite the opposite, Captain.  What we have here is an opportunity to be beneficial to one another.”_

_“I’m not interested.”_

_She pouted—another hyperbolic display.  “You haven’t even heard what I have to offer.”_

_He looked her over and scoffed.  “I doubt you have anything that could tempt me.”_

_“Milah will be so disappointed to hear that.”_

_“Wh…what?”_

_She_ tsk _ed three times, shaking her finger in conjunction with the sound.  “First things first.  Are you familiar with a woman by the name of Emma Swan?”_

_“Can’t say that I am.”_

_She grunted, appearing truly annoyed for the first time since his arrival.  “Seems she’s something of a_ Savior _.  And as such, her very existence threatens the curse I’ve worked so hard to enact.”  Her eyes glossed over and she was lost in thought for several moments before turning to him with fresh vigor in her voice.  “You are going to kill her for me.”_

_“And then you’ll…?”_

_“If you play your part like a good little puppet,” she smiled, “you’ll be reunited with your True Love before you can say Neverland.  And the two of you can live happily ever after in this new utopia.”_

_Disregarding the quiet voice that cautioned him against trusting the woman who’d locked him away for—gods, had it truly been twenty-eight years?—he held out his hand, “We have an accord.”_

“So what do we call it?”

“What’s that, lass?”

“Our mission.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“It needs a name.  Like Operation Cobra.”

“Er…okay.  How about Operation…Swan?”

From atop the mattress came the single loveliest sound he’d heard in ages—his heart ached as it broke upon his ears.  Beth’s shoulder’s shook with the echo of her amusement.  “That’s a terrible name!  You can’t have Mo—uh…Emma’s name in the operation.  It has to be something unrelated to what the mission entails.  You know, to throw off suspicion.”

Killian smiled up at her, thinking she was possibly the greatest thing to ever happen, before remembering himself.  He wasn’t a father.  He couldn’t be the sort of parent she needed—not without Milah.  Once his oath was fulfilled and his love returned to him, then perhaps they could be…

His chest constricted as a word that hadn’t pertained to him in three hundred years raced across his thoughts.

Until confirmation came, he couldn’t get attached.  For all he knew, it would turn out to be some grand hoax, and he the donkey’s arse who fell for it—or worse, it was all part of the queen’s curse.  The lass could have false memories implanted of him and Milah and the connections they bore to one another.

The next thing he knew, Beth was climbing down the side of the bed and helping herself to his covers.  “Operation Second Breakfast.”  She said as she nestled against him, draping her arm across his stomach.

Killian lay there, awkwardly still and uncertain of how to proceed.  His hand, seemingly of its own volition, wrapped around her, and in no time at all, she was fast asleep.


	14. Chapter 14

_This is ridiculous._

She thought being cursed might’ve rendered the part of her dad’s personality that controlled parental authority obsolete.  No such luck.

_“But Dad…”_

_He arched his brow at her._

_“Killian,” she amended her whine, “what about the mission?”_

How was she supposed to accomplish anything from the inside of a classroom, chock full of oblivious second graders?

_“You’re going to school, Elizabeth, and I’ll not hear another word on the subject.”_

The door creaked on its hinges, announcing the late arrival of the new substitute teacher, but Beth didn’t look up until he spoke.

“Morning, class—I apologize for my tardiness.”  He wore a brown blazer with elbow patches, and carried a book bag in his hand.  His hair was slicked back, his face clean-shaven.  Beth didn’t think she’d ever seen him looking so professional—or so much like a nerd—in her life.  “My name is Mr. Mills, and I’ll be taking over for Miss Blanchard for the remainder of the school year.”

Before she could stop herself, Beth raised her hand.

“Yes—” Henry looked as though he’d seen a ghost.  Collecting himself, he consulted the seating chart left for him on Miss Blanchard’s desk.  “Jones, Elizabeth.”

At least she’d been left her real name, in part.

“What happened to Gran—Miss Blanchard?”

“I wasn’t informed of the circumstances surrounding her leave.”

“Is she coming back?”

“No, I’m afraid she’s not.”  Henry adjusted the tie Beth hadn’t noticed during her initial inspection.  Gods, he was like a grownup.

“Do you know where she is?”

“I’m sure the office has her information, if you wanted to send a card or letter or—”

“I don’t want to send a letter—I want to see her.”

“I’m sorry, Elizabeth, but that just isn’t a feasible option at the moment.”

Beth sank low in her seat and crossed her arms, one thousand percent done with this entire curse.

 

—

 

To her mounting surprise, Henry was competent—not that she’d doubted his ability for a second.  Okay, maybe just one.  But he worked through the lesson plan with ease, and was rather adept at corralling kids, no matter how unruly.  Beth caught herself fighting a smile on several occasions.  She was just grateful she’d remembered to call him Mr. Mills—mostly.

“Henry, he stole my paper.”

He looked up from the pages on Grandma Snow’s desk—his desk now, she supposed—taken aback.  Beth cursed internally, and regretted even that much.  She couldn’t, in good conscience, accept payment from her loved ones for swearing if she, herself, was not also held accountable.  But it wasn’t like they’d ever know…

If only her dad would get out of her head.  Wasn’t it bad enough he couldn’t remember his own daughter but could still read her mind?

“Mr. Mills, please, Elizabeth.  And August, I’d appreciate it if you kept your attention on your own assignment.”

The boy called August—

_Wait a minute._

Red hair, freckles, clothes that looked as though he should be selling _Toaster Strudel—_

But he was almost Henry’s age.  Wasn’t he?

She hoped her dad was making progress on Operation Second Breakfast—they needed to break this wretched curse before things got any weirder.  What next?  Was she to discover that Uncle Robin had morphed into a cartoon fox, or that Uncle Will had returned to Wonderland without his heart?  How old was Roland if August had reverted to the same age as Beth?  She hadn’t the slightest clue where Uncle Neal was in all of this, or Grandma Snow.  Grandpa David was back to working at the animal shelter.

Beth had nearly tackled him to the ground when seeing him yesterday.  He was locking up for the night, and took the time to greet them with a kind smile.  He’d wished them a good evening and walked away.  Beth had stared after him, unable to stop herself.  Unable to pretend she wasn’t coming undone with every person who regarded her as a stranger—

“Is something wrong, Elizabeth?”

Henry stood over her, staring at her like she was a crazy person.  And maybe she was.

She nodded, forcing a sane smile.

He lowered himself into a crouched position, balancing himself with his hands on her desk.  Speaking in a soft tone, he said, “Come see me after class, okay?”

 

—

 

She tried to get lost amidst the crowd of people moving like a giant swarm toward the door.  But Henry wasn’t fooled.

“Elizabeth?”

She approached his desk, grumbling to herself as she went.  “Beth.”  She said once arrived.

“I’m sorry?”

“My dad only calls me Elizabeth when I’m in trouble.”

Henry smiled, waiting for the coast to clear before continuing, “I just wanted to check in with you—you seem to be having a difficult time.  Do you remember coming by my apartment yesterday?  Something about...being my sister?"

Beth hid her gaze amidst the stacks of papers on his desk.  “Maybe.”

“Do you want to tell me why you did that?”

Seeing his kind face, wearing the same expression to which he was prone when succeeding in convincing her to get ready in the morning where all others failed—patient yet unyielding—she ached from missing him.  He was sitting across from her and somehow he was lifetimes removed.

She went back and forth in her mind about whether or not it was a good idea to clue him in.  He was the Truest Believer, after all—that wasn’t the sort of thing that disappeared with age.  Like her mom being the Savior—sort of a birthright, Beth had always thought.

Taking a deep breath, she decided to rip off the Band-Aid.  “You are my brother, you just don’t remember.  We have the same mom but different dads, but you never treated me like I was anything less than a full sister.”  She could see she was losing him already, but once she started, the flood of information couldn’t be contained.  “Mom gave you away when you were born because your dad abandoned her in jail, and you were adopted by Regina, who raised you until you were ten, when you left Storybrooke to find Emma, and you guys broke the first curse with True Love’s Kiss after you ate a poisoned apple that was meant for her.  And then Mom and Grandma Snow fell through a portal to the Enchanted Forest, where she met my dad, and they climbed a beanstalk and bested a giant, and—”

Henry held up his hand to stop her, shaking his head.  “Hold on—”

“I know it’s a lot to take in, but it’s true.  If you can remember Mom and she can remember you, then the town can be saved, and things can go back to normal—”

“Beth…”

Her heart sank at his tone.  “You think I’m crazy.”

“I don’t—”

“Yes, you do—and you should understand how that feels more than anyone.”

A knock at the door called their attention.

At the threshold stood a woman about Henry’s age, if Beth had to guess, with blond hair and a welcoming smile.  “Hi,” she said, “I’m looking for Elizabeth Jones.”

“Who are you?”

“My name’s Grace.”  She crossed into the classroom.  “Are you Beth?  Your dad sent me to pick you up.”

“Why?”

“Work ran a little late—he asked me to watch you.”

_Work?_

Beth eyed the woman from head to toe.  “Can I see some credentials?”

Henry laughed before getting to his feet and introducing himself to the person presently trying to snatch her.  “Henry Mills,” he extended his hand, which Grace accepted, “Beth’s teacher.”

“It’s nice to meet you.”  Turning to Beth, she said, “I could give him a call, if you’d like.”

“He doesn’t have a—” Her statement never reached completion, as Grace retrieved a cell phone from her purse, dialed, and held it out to Beth.

“Sheriff Swan.”  Came a voice over the line.

“Mom?”  Beth took the phone in hand.  “I mean, Emma.  It’s Beth.  Jones—you helped me find my dad.”

“Hey, kid.  Everything okay?”

She heard a faint noise that sounded like rushing water.  “Is my dad with you?”

“Yeah he’s right here.”

A moment later, there was a whispered, “Bloody hell,” followed by, “Hello?”

“Dad?”

Beth sensed his want to correct her, and his realization that they had an audience.  “Aye.  What is it, Love?”

“What are you doing with Emma?”

“Er…it’s rather a long story.”

“Did you send some strange woman to pick me up from school?”

The rushing water grew louder, nearly drowning out her father’s voice.  “Ah, yes.  The nanny.”

Beth gasped.  “I don’t need a nanny.”

“You’re seven.”

She glared at Grace, waiting complacently for the call to end.  “Where did you even find this person?”

“I assure you, she came with the highest commendations.”

“From who?”

“Killian!”  Her mom shouted in the distance.

“I’ve got to go, Love.”

“Dad—”

The line went dead.  Beth stared at the screen for a long moment before handing it back; the wallpaper was a white rabbit wearing a waistcoat and top hat, which made her wonder if this Grace person had some connection to Wonderland.

“What did he say?”

Beth grabbed her backpack and stomped into the hallway without a word, but not before observing the less than subtle glances between Henry and the woman her dad had hired.  If her brother could refrain from flirting with every female in town, it would go a long way toward preserving her sanity.  At least she could be certain of one thing: her gag reflex was in full working order.

 

—

 

She couldn’t believe it.  She’d been pawned off.  While her dad was doing gods know what with her mom.  Correction: Captain Hook was doing gods know what with Emma Swan.  They weren’t their true selves, or…present selves, or…

Beth didn’t know what they were, but they weren’t the Killian and Emma Jones who’d loved her.

This must’ve been what her dad felt during the year he was stuck in the Enchanted Forest and her mom was in New York with Henry, cozying up to a flying minion of the Wicked Witch.

_I won’t last a year._

“So, Beth, what do you like to do for fun?”

Beth tried her hardest not to roll her eyes, or to deliver a response dripping with sarcasm.  But she couldn’t exactly answer with the truth—that she adored magic above most things.  That she looked forward to lessons with Regina the way most kids looked forward to Christmas.

Second favorite would have to suffice.  “I like riding horses.”

_And swordplay.  And falconry.  And listening to stories about my mom, the Savior.  And my grandparents, Snow White and Prince Charming.  And my dad, Captain Hook._

What sort of world didn’t believe in fairytales?

“Horseback riding.”  Grace smiled.  “It seems we have something in common. We’ll have to add that to the list.”

“List?”

“Of things to do after school, or on weekends—whenever you need someone to hang out with.”

_You mean whenever my dad wants to get rid of me._

“I know we just met, and this is all new to you, but I’m hoping we can be friends.”

_And I’m hoping to make it through this conversation without owing myself a fortune._

Beth put on her best smile and prepared to lie through her teeth.  _“I’d like that,”_ was on the tip of her tongue when they came upon the library, and revelation struck like lightning.

She pressed her face to the glass.  “Can we stop in here?”


	15. Chapter 15

Curse or no curse, strange land or no, there was no accounting for the dreams he’d been having, each of which seemed to center around the Swan girl—Emma—whom he’d not known existed until two days ago.

The previous night, they’d climbed a beanstalk and knocked a giant unconscious with magic powder.

_“I don’t mean to upset you, Emma, but I think we make quite the team.”_

Emma was less than amused—and not at all near swooning at the sight of his smile.  What further proof did he need that it’d all been a dream?

And yet…

_“So now you’re gonna be a gentleman?”_

_He leaned in close to her, and though he hadn’t planned it, caught the scent of a most intoxicating fragrance.  Gods, was that her?_

It isn’t the bloody graveyard, Mate.

_“Giants can smell blood.  And I’m always a gentleman.”_

What came next could only be described as an impressive display of oral aptitude, if Killian did boast—first with the rum, and then the scarf used to bandage her hand.

_“And then?”  She asked a little breathlessly._

_“Then we run like hell.”_

“But Dad…” The lass corrected herself at his reproachful brow:  “Killian, what about the mission?”

He hadn’t the slightest clue as to where such a tone came from, but he left no room for debate when telling Beth she wasn’t missing another day of school.

It wouldn’t suit his agenda to have a witness—and besides, he wasn’t a complete monster.  To subject a child to the queen’s endgame would’ve been nothing short of traumatizing.

_“Well aren’t you Father of the Year?”_

“Fine.”  She stomped to the lavatory and slammed the door.

 

—

 

As luck would have it, the target of his murderous plot exited the sheriff’s station just as Killian darkened its door.

“Swan, I was just on my way to see you.”

The keys jangled in her hand as she pulled them from the lock.  Her attempts at speech were muffled by an edible object, as evidenced by the bite she tore from it when turning toward him.  Some sort of pastry that scattered flakes along her path.

“Can you walk and talk?”  She asked around the partially chewed morsel as she took off down the lane.

Killian found himself following after her before his response could form, and short minutes later, they stood outside a structure touting a sign that read: Mr. Gold Pawnbroker.

Emma rapped at the door, but if the lack of proper illumination was any indication, the place was empty.  “Gold!”  She struck the door once more, in a manner too violent to be dubbed _knocking_.  “You in there?”

“Perhaps I could be of assistance.”  Killian approached the door and took to one knee, retrieving as he did an instrument from the back pocket of his jeans ( _“Is this really necessary?”  He eyed the garments foreign to every realm he’d visited thus far.  “Trust me, Dad—I’m doing you a favor.”_ ).  He would’ve preferred his hook, but Beth had hidden it rather deftly.

_Make one hell of a pirate, that one._

Emma held out her hand to impede his efforts.  “What are you doing?”

“I’m helping.”

“You know I can arrest you for breaking and entering.”

“Suppose your Mr. Gold is being detained inside, unable to call for rescue.”

“Fine.”  Emma conceded.  “But you’re waiting outside.”

 

—

 

He held firm to his vow for a full five minutes.  But the longer he remained outside, the more conspicuous he felt.  Killian Jones was many things—invisible he was not.

“I told you to wait.”

“I didn’t listen.”

Emma glared at him.  “Don’t think I’m taking my eyes off you for a second.”

“I would despair if you did.”  Killian smirked, to Emma’s increasing irritation.

They walked deeper into the shop of artifacts, from what Killian imagined to be more peculiar lands than the one he presently found himself in—if that were possible.  Periodically, Emma called out for Mr. Gold, shinning a handheld light in the direction of her voice, but she continued to receive no answer.

When she disappeared behind a curtain cordoning off a back room, Killian surveyed the contents surrounding the till.  Nothing much of note—a globe with no map, business cards with no names.  The corner of a page caught his attention, protruding from a larger stack of parchment, but of a darker hue, as was common with age.  Reversing its folds, Killian was startled by the hand drawn image, as a voice from his past came to haunt him.

_“I want off this ship,_ Pirate _.”_

“Baelfire…” he whispered.

“Find something?”  Emma focused her lantern on him as she emerged from the back room.

“No, nothing.”  Killian returned the parchment to its keeping for the duration of her probing gaze, but no sooner had she turned her back than he secured it in his pocket alongside his instruments of intrusion.  “This Mr. Gold—what can you tell me about him?”

Emma shrugged.  “I wouldn’t trust him with my lunch order, but he mostly keeps to himself.”

“Describe him to me.”

“Why so curious?”

“No harm in being prepared, should I find myself in want of his…expertise.”

Emma eyed Killian closely, but whatever was on the tip of her tongue was interrupted by a clamor of falling objects emanating from the room she’d just inspected.  Finger to her lips, she drew the weapon from the holster at her hip, and took calculated steps in pursuit of the culprit.

She reached one hand forward to draw the curtain, and was thrown back by a dark figure.  He ran past Killian, who was preoccupied with any injury Emma might’ve attained.  She waved him off and was on her feet and out the door faster than he could say, “Swan.”

 

—

 

They gave chase through the better part of Storybrooke, and deep into its bordering forest, coming upon the toll bridge before the trail went cold.

Emma bent at the waist, clutching her knees to catch her breath.  When she stood straight, Killian observed a trickle of blood dripping from her palm.

“Give me your hand.”  He said.

“What?”

“Your hand—it’s cut.  Let me help you.”

Examining the wound, Emma dismissed its severity.  “It’s fine, just—”

“No,” he pulled her toward him by the wrist, “it’s not.”

_“So now you’re gonna be a gentleman?”_

“Have we…?”  Killian took a step back, releasing her.  “Have we done this before?”

“Done what?”

“This.  All of this.”

“Have we…broken into a pawn shop and chased a burglar into the woods?”  She regarded him as she would a madman.  “Killian, are you okay?”

He answered in the affirmative, despite feeling the furthest thing from okay.  He’d heard tale of déjà vu, but had never experienced it firsthand.  It was rather an unpleasant sensation.

Perhaps _unpleasant_ was the wrong word—after all, there were worse partners he could’ve been paired with.

_Partners?_

“What did you want to talk to me about?”

“What’s that?”

“Outside the station.  You said you were on your way to see me—what about?”

“Oh, I uh…” _Nothing to concern yourself with, Love.  A simple assassination—you wouldn’t be interested._   “I wanted to thank you.  For…looking after Beth.  She took quite a shine to you.”

“She’s a great kid.  You and your wife must be very proud.”

“I’m not married.”

“Oh?”

Killian smirked at the change in her tone—unintended as it was.  “Beth’s mother passed some time ago.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”  This sentiment, he didn’t doubt was genuine.  Emma smiled kindly.  Killian was about to ask what made her so sympathetic to his plight—a comparable loss, perhaps?—when she reached in her back pocket for her phone.  “Sheriff Swan.  Hey, kid.  Everything okay?  Yeah, he’s right here.”  Handing Killian the device, she said, “Speak of the devil.”

Killian slapped the back of his neck, pulling his hand away to find its attacker smeared across his palm.  “Bloody hell.”  Barb-faced buggers were everywhere.  Instead of swatting them like the lunatic Emma was clearly beginning to believe he was, he relieved her of the phone and said, “Hello?”

“Dad?”

He cringed—internally if not otherwise.  Meeting Emma’s eye, he refrained from admonishing the lass.  “Aye.  What is it, Love?”

“What are you doing with Emma?”

_Certainly not upholding my end of the bargain._   “Er…it’s rather a long story.”

The river below made it difficult to hear, but Killian caught the gist of her complaint—something about not requiring supervision.

_Bloody stubborn child._

Killian was caught up with the conversation to such a degree that he didn’t see the cloaked figure until he was in their midst.  Until he’d taken hold of Emma and flung her body over the bridge’s handrail.

“Killian!”

“I’ve got to go, Love.”  The phone fell from his hand as he hastened to Emma’s aid.

In bracing for Killian’s assault, the man detached himself from Emma’s grasping hands, and she disappeared from view as a scream broke upon the air.  Killian stood frozen, staring after the empty ledge until the man lunged forward.  Crouching low, Killian deflected the man’s attempt to upend him, and tossed his adversary head over foot.

Glinting like a beacon in the dark was Emma’s firearm; Killian didn’t hesitate.  Taking it in hand, he turned to the man whose features remained obscure—no, not obscure.  Nonexistent.  What Killian had taken for a trick of shadow was an illusion.  He emptied the chamber, but the bullets passed right through the dark form as though it were comprised of vapor.  And perhaps it was.  The cloak abandoned its shape and gathered as a heap on the ground.

Unable to form a single coherent thought to explain what he’d just seen, Killian remained in position, prepared for a strike that never came.

_Emma_.

Her name ran as a whisper across his heart and he moved to the ledge, ready for the worst.

_Not again._

But in peering over the rim, his terror was disappointed.  He could’ve laughed for the relief of seeing her dangling from the bridge by one hand.

“Help…would be…nice.”

 

—

 

“First near-death experience?”

Emma winced.  “First time being thrown off a bridge.”

Dabbing gently, Killian cleaned the wound in her hand.  “Well, you know what they say.”  He looked up at her with an arched brow.  “You never forget your first.”

Killian saw her struggle not to smile, a battle she lost in the end.

He secured a proper bandage and cleared away the debris of his medical intervention.  When he stood to deposit the rubbish in a nearby bin, Emma returned to the paperwork she’d pulled up before succumbing to Killian’s insistence that if she wanted to maintain full use of her hand, she’d do well to prevent infection.

“You know, most men would take your silence as off-putting.”  She looked up to see him smiling as he regained his seat.  “But I’ve always loved a challenge.”

“I’m concentrating.”  She flipped to the second page of her dossier, and back to the first.

“I’d say you’re afraid to talk, that you might reveal yourself.  And along the way, you might come to trust me.”

“You should be used to people not trusting you.”

“The pirate thing?”

“Nowadays, they’re just called criminals.”

“And you aren’t a reformed criminal, yourself.”  She cautioned a glance in his direction.  Running his tongue along his bottom lip, Killian appraised the woman across from him.  “Perhaps I don’t need you to share.  You’re something of an open book.”

Emma leaned back in her chair, linking her hands in her lap.  “I’m all ears.”

“Let’s see…You keep people at arm’s length because you’re still haunted by every person who’s ever abandoned you—starting with your parents.”

Her smug expression vanished.

“Like I said, open book.”

“How would you know that?”

Beth’s voice, like a conscience, ran across his mind.  _“You cannot, under any circumstances, tell her you’re Captain Hook.”_

“I spent many years among children of the same misfortune.  They all share the same look in their eyes—the look you get when you’ve been left alone.”  He paused to allow her time to commend him, or call him a presumptuous arse, whichever her inclination.  When she did neither, Killian continued his assessment.  “Love has been all too rare in your life, hasn’t it?  Have you ever even been in love?”

Her eyes engaged in a seeming endless search of his until locking their gaze decidedly upon his lips.  “Once.”

He felt himself learning forward, and he wasn’t the only one.

_“You are going to kill her for me.”_

Killian was transported back to the toll bridge, to knowing that no one, not even a—what had the queen called her?—a _Savior_ could survive a fall from that height when all that waited below were jagged rocks and a low tide.  To knowing Emma was their latest casualty.  The fear that’d overwhelmed him was unlike anything he’d experienced in three hundred years.  It rekindled the sense of déjà vu that’d begun its pursuit of him around the same time a hobbit-sized brunette had entered his life.  He’d known, without question, that he’d suffered this particular loss before.

He’d agreed—promised, vowed, given his word in a binding oath—to kill her.  And he’d had no qualms about the undertaking at the time.  He’d have done anything to see Milah again.

_“I never thought I’d be capable of letting go of my first love…”_

Emma closed her eyes, and it was all the incentive Killian needed to complete the journey—what spanned mere inches of space but felt as though he’d crossed entire oceans to reach her.

_“You couldn’t handle it.”_

Hand at the base of her neck, he drew her forward—

The moment his lips grazed hers—with not nearly enough force to qualify as a kiss—Emma recoiled, sliding her chair back, and attempted to lose herself in her paperwork.  Content to pretend he wasn’t there.

Killian took the hint.  “I should go.”

“Beth is probably wondering where you are.”  Came Emma’s too-swift response.

“Aye.  Goodnight, Swan.”

“Goodnight, Killian.”  He was halfway to the exit when she called him back.  “If you ever get tired of cleaning fish, give me a call.”  He turned to find her shyly smiling.  “I think we’d make quite the team.”

 

—

 

It was well past midnight when he entered the quaint establishment known as _Granny’s_ , and Beth was wide awake, poring over a book half her size.  Hearing the door latch behind him, she slammed it closed and hopped from the bed to confront him.

“Where have you been all day?  Do you have any idea how long it took me to ditch your little spy?”

“I was…” Killian began before realizing his remorse was unfounded.  “You’re not my keeper, Love—quite the opposite, I’m told.”  He pushed past her and plopped down on the mattress.

Who knew plotting the demise of one woman could be so taxing?

_Is that what you were doing?  Plotting?_

“Did you make any progress on the mission?  Is that why you were with Mom?”

Killian sat up, his muscles groaning with the effort.  “Did you just call Emma—?”

“A slip of the tongue.”  The child was quick to correct.  “I meant Henry’s mom.  Is that why you were with Henry’s mom.”  She avoided Killian’s eyes, biting back any further blunders.

“Lass, are you certain you’ve relayed the whole story?”

“Mhm.  So what did you do today?  Is it true you got a job?”

Killian studied her a minute more.  Deciding to let the matter drop for now, he said, “Aye.  Sheriff’s Deputy.”

“Daddy, that’s perfect!”  Killian didn’t correct her, didn’t withdraw when she hugged him.  “We’re going to win, aren’t we?”

Ignoring a sudden pang of guilt, Killian smiled.  “Aye.  Circumstances appear rather…promising.”  The lass tightened her hold with a giggle, and Killian found himself returning the gesture, unable to account for the warmth flooding his veins.

_Rather promising, indeed._


	16. Chapter 16

_“You need me alive.”_

_“Why?”_

_“Who are you?”_

_“…most people have taken to call me by my more colorful moniker: Hook.”_

_“As in_ Captain _Hook?”_

_“Ah, so you’ve heard of me.”_

_“What the hell is that?”_

_“Rum, and a bloody waste of it.”_

_“Try something new, darling—it’s called trust.”_

_“I thought you didn’t care about anyone but yourself.”_

_“Maybe I just needed reminding that I could.”_

_“I can’t lose you, too.”_

_“We both want the same thing.”—_

Something shook him—surely the Earth, itself.  Though, he couldn’t recall an incident in recent memory wherein the Earth called him “Dad.”

He groaned, waving her arms away.

“You’re having a nightmare.”

“I’m fine…Love.  Go back to sleep.”

“It’s almost noon.”

Killian’s eyes opened and instantly closed at the sunlight searing its mark upon them.  “Shouldn’t you be in school?”

“Saturday.”

_Wonderful._

He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

“Emma’s called three times—were you supposed to work today?”

_Shit._

He sprang to his feet, retrieving his coat from the foot of the bed.  He was half-dressed and fully out the door when he looked down to see Beth at his side, mirroring his actions.

“Where is it you think you’re going?”  He asked her.

“I’m going with you.”  Wide eyes stared back at him, not as innocent as they’d have him believe—but he’d be damned if they didn’t tug at his heart.  “You weren’t going to leave me here alone, were you?”

“The sheriff’s station is no place for a child.”

She pouted without remorse for his blackened soul.  She was really making it difficult, if not impossible, to deny the blood they shared.  She was him, repackaged and reborn, and—she was bloody brilliant, wasn’t she?

Killian turned his gaze heavenward, imploring any deity that would deign to take pity on him.  “You may come along—”

Beth squealed with delight.

“ _But_ …” Killian donned as stern an expression as he could muster.  “I’m putting in a call to Grace as soon as we arrive.”

“But Dad…”

Taking to one knee, he gripped her arm.  “I won’t put you in harm’s way, Elizabeth.  Your mother wouldn’t want it.  You understand that, don’t you?”

Her frown deepened.  “I guess.”

“That’s a good lass.”

 

—

 

“Emma!”  Beth shot through the entrance as though fired from a cannon and latched her arms around the sheriff’s midsection.

“Hey, kid.”  Emma smiled over at Killian, who massaged a forming bruise on his elbow.  _Someone_ was supposed to hold the door for him.

“Dad told me you almost died.”

The scene stirred something in his mind—his thoughts rattled like a locked gate.  Some part of him tried to break through but met only with resistance.  Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was right—the three of them, together.

“He overslept.”  Beth informed Emma.

“I noticed.”  Emma, in what Killian could only guess to be a mockery of his not-always-subconscious tick, quirked her brow.  “Long night?”

“Not nearly long enough.”

Emma turned to her desk before Killian could confirm the tint in her cheeks.  “Call came in this morning—any guesses who from?”

“Mr. Gold.”  Killian tried not to growl the name—a feat not easily accomplished.

If his suspicions proved accurate, and the Crocodile had indeed infiltrated this idyllic hamlet, no contract with the queen would save him.

“Says he waited all night and why didn’t I show?”

“Is he daft?”

“Gold?”  Said Beth.

“You know him?”  Said Killian.

“Um…” her eyes moved about points in the room, never settling, “…no.  No, I do not.”

“You sure about that?”  Emma checked the child for lies.

“Mhm.  So what’s for lunch?”

 

—

 

Emma covered her mouth to keep her laugh from spilling the bite she’d just taken.

“The smell went away…eventually.”  Said Beth.  “But I’m not allowed to cook breakfast anymore.”

“That’s probably for the best.”  Said Killian.  “What simpleminded sod gave you run of the kitchen?”

Beth giggled.  “You did.”

_When the blazes was that?”_

Unless she was keeping up appearances by spinning tales of culinary catastrophe.

_Clever lass._

Emma laughed again, and the sound was quickly becoming one of Killian’s favorite things—second only to the child sandwiched between them.

He was getting attached—the one thing he couldn’t afford.  Three days he’d been free of his windowless prison.  Three days he’d been faced with the reality of being a father.  Three days he’d been bossed around by someone half his size—and he’d be damned if they weren’t the brightest of his miserable existence.

Then there was the matter of Emma Swan.  He supposed she was always meant to be an obstacle, separating him from the vengeance he so craved.  Thinking back to his escape, it’d been uncomplicated to the point of being ridiculous.  The queen wanted him to think he’d accomplished something, lest it be painfully obvious that he’d fallen into her trap like the pawn he clearly was.  After all, with him locked away, who would solve her Savior problem?  For some reason, she couldn’t eliminate the Swan girl on her own.

Emma sucked a spot of mayonnaise from her thumb, and the same gate rattled in his mind.  Why was such a negligible reflex so familiar to him?

_“Isn’t that the reason your realm invented napkins?”_

_“Are you calling me uncivilized?”_

_“I wouldn’t dream of it, Love.”_

A symptom of piracy, he supposed, was that with every pocket picked, every tankard emptied, every woman bedded and rival bested, one’s conscience dwindled to a point of nonexistence.  He’d not felt true contrition over any one act in ages.

Why was this deal any different?

_You know the answer, Hook._

“Well, I’m stuffed.”  Emma leaned back in her chair, hands on stomach.  “Anyone want my apple?”

“I’ll take it.”  Beth reached for Emma’s plate.  “My dad’s allergic.”

“To…apples?”

“Okay, not _allergic_.  But definitely traumatized.”

Killian gaped at Beth, not following her statement, but he didn’t make any spoken argument.  What sane person was afraid of apples?  Unless they were Snow White.

 

—

 

The only thing Killian found more curious than the name _Rabbit Hole_ was the high concentration of patrons it boasted at three p.m. on a Saturday.

If he hadn’t known of the curse prior to reentering the pawn shop, the lack of recognition from the woman operating the till would’ve only helped him along.  Her expression had been completely blank when informing them that the elusive Mr. Gold had left the establishment for another, on private business.  Killian remembered his time before the Enchanted Forest was taken captive as though he’d been a prisoner for days, not years.  But Belle, by all evidence, had no recollection of him breaking into her cell at the Evil Queen’s castle.

Perhaps equally perplexing had been the yellow carriage Emma had employed as a means of transportation.

_“That’s…quite the vessel, Swan.”_

_She tried not to laugh too loudly at his disinclination to climb inside.  “You coming, or what?”_

The ride across town had him questioning, and not for the first time, what the queen had done with his ship.  And again, a cloying voice interrupted his thoughts to insist that he knew full well where it was.

_“They are if you’ve got something of value to…trade.”_

_“And what was that?”_

_“Why, the_ Jolly Roger _, of course.”_

His eyes had wandered from the road ahead to the woman seated behind the wheel.  Was she truly oblivious to the dark forces encroaching upon the town?  Was she ignorant of the queen’s curse, and Killian’s identity outside of Storybrooke?

_“As in_ Captain _Hook?”_

Suddenly a drink hadn’t sounded so bad.

“What can I get you, Swan?”  He turned on his barstool to face her.

“I’m on the clock, so…club soda?”

“A woman of sound moral judgment.”  Killian said with a smile.  “Fortunately for you, I don’t adhere to such strict conventions.  Rum,” he ordered the barkeep, “and leave the bottle.”

“Bad day?”  Asked Emma.

“Nothing to fret over, Love.”

“Hey,” he looked up at her caress of his arm, “you okay?”

_“You are acting strange.”_

“I’m fine.”  He pulled away, seizing the glass that arrived just in time.  He downed the inebriant liquid in a single swallow, and winced for the trail it burned down his throat.  How long had it been since his last drink?

And how many would suffice to drown out the visions too real to be dreams?  They’d begun haunting his waking hours, as well as robbing him of sleep.  Indeed, scarce was the instance in which he looked at Emma without slipping into a life he hadn’t lived, one that featured a version of himself he didn’t recognize.  Not anymore, not since…

He made quick work of his second serving, and his third.

“You might want to slow down.”  Emma cautioned.  “I know it’s your first day, but as of eight this morning, you’re officially employed by the county, so—”

Killian slid his glass across the bar when she reached for it.  “Bad form, Swan.”

Emma sighed.  “Maybe if you told me what’s bothering you, I could help.”

_I have memories that don’t belong to me.  Memories that include you, include_ us _.  From another life or time or alternate universe._

_And sometimes when I look at the child I know is mine, it isn’t Milah’s face I see._

That would go over smashingly.

“Apologies, Swan.”  He pasted on a grin.  “Just a touch of bad luck, is all.”

She searched his eyes, as though capable of conquering the deepest fathoms of a man’s soul with naught but a glance.  “Killian—”

“Miss Swan,” interrupted a voice that had Killian clenching his fist, “I believe you were looking for me.”

“You’re a hard man to track down.”  Said Emma.

“On the contrary, Miss Swan.  I’m nothing if not eager to perform my civic duty.  Hence my numerous calls to your office regarding the recent string of break-ins.”

“You claim to have been at the pawn shop last night, but I saw no sign of you.  Neither did Killian.  Can you explain that?”

“Killian?”  The Crocodile looked his way.  Faced with his mortal enemy, grinning like the reptile he’d shown himself time and again to be, Killian’s abhorrence was rekindled.

“My new deputy.”

Amusement curved his vile mouth, and he extended his hand, frail and old and not at all like the last time Killian had seen him.  “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“We’ve met.”  Killian couldn’t keep from snarling.

“Is that right?  Well, you’ll forgive an old man his memory.  Must not have left much of an _impression_.”

The demon was on his back and Killian crouching over him, lining up his next assault, before awareness caught up with him.  It was Emma’s grip on his arm, anchoring him, her voice in his ear, calling on his humanity.

Killian leaned forward to growl in his ear.  “This isn’t over, Crocodile.”

“I’d tread carefully, if I were you, _Captain_.”

 

—

 

_“You really save his life?”_

_He couldn’t quite look at her.  Not yet.  Gods, why had Dave told them?  Sodding prince was too honorable for his own good.  Or anyone else’s._

_“That surprise you?”_

_“Well,” she held his flask out to him, “you and David aren’t exactly—how do you say it?_ Mates _.”_

_“Doesn’t mean I leave your father to perish on this island.”_

_She looked him in the eye, her gaze unwavering, and sincerity taking sarcasm’s place in her tone.  “Thank you.”_

_She was bloody breathtaking.  Like looking into the sun—unable to turn away, but blinded to all things beyond its radiance._

_He was beginning to sound like the lovesick sailors once under his command—swearing by the gods that if the others had but seen, they’d know.  It was no siren’s scheme, but the pull of True Love that’d drawn the mermaids hence._

_“Yeah, well,” he scratched behind his ear, “perhaps gratitude is in order, now.”  He tapped his lips and unleashed a smirk he’d oft heard described as “devilish.”_

_To his relief—and unending surprise—Emma didn’t knock him on his arse.  Contrary to his every expectation, she smiled.  “Yeah, that’s what the ‘thank you’ was for.”_

_“Hm…” Killian chanced a step forward, “…is that all your father’s life is worth to you?”_

_“Please.  You couldn’t handle it.”_

_“Perhaps_ you’re _the one who couldn’t handle it.”—_

He rolled over with a groan, the bedsprings protesting his movements as much as his own limbs.

Emma was seated outside his cell, waiting for him to regain consciousness.  When it’d been lost, he couldn’t quite recall—sometime shortly after he’d realigned the Crocodile’s jaw.  By the darkness outside the station, he’d been out longer than he would’ve preferred.

“Hey, beautiful.”  He sat up slowly, massaging his throbbing temple.

“Want to tell me what that was all about?”

“Wouldn’t want to bore you with the details.”

“Details are part of my job.”

Killian’s jaw clenched of its own accord.  “Just had an off night, Love.  It’s best left unexamined.”

“Maybe I’m worried about you.”

_“Maybe I just needed reminding that I could.”_

The more he looked at her—the deep set to her frown, the furrow of her brow, every physical assertion to support her claim—the less he could stomach his own traitorous heart.

What would Milah think if she could see him now?  Ready to cast her memory aside, and for what?

The four-letter word he’d worked so hard to quell resurfaced in that moment.  But Killian couldn’t suffer its optimism, its assurance that life could get better, that people could move on from the things that broke them.  He didn’t want to move on.

Love brought nothing but wasted years and endless torment.

“I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine.”

“I can’t force you to share.”  The earnestness with which she spoke threatened to unravel him.  “But I’m here…if you need to talk.”

“Generous offer.”  Killian scoffed.  “I’m afraid I’ll have to pass.”

“You don’t have to be an ass about it.”

“What was I thinking?  Gods know I wouldn’t want to insult the illustrious Sheriff Swan.  Liable to lock a man up for all manner of offenses—or worse, stop speaking to him outright, and where would the world be without such a rapier wit?”

She stared at him for several silent minutes before standing.  Retrieving the keys from her coat, she unlocked his cell and held the door open.  “You’re free to go.”

Killian got to his feet with no little pain, but as he brushed past her, he couldn’t ignore the guilt that washed over him.  It wasn’t her fault he was losing his mind.

He turned back at the exit to find Emma standing close.  “Swan—”

She pulled him forward by the collar and cut off any apology he could’ve hoped to voice.


	17. Chapter 17

Grace arrived at the exact moment that Beth took her last bite—as if Beth needed another reason not to trust her, the woman was the epitome of punctual.

Beth had kissed her dad goodbye, had nearly kissed Emma, and stomped out of the sheriff’s station like she was being escorted to her doom.  And who was to say that wasn’t the case?  Exactly how long had her dad known this Grace person before he gave her free reign over his daughter’s life?

She resented the implication that she was anything less than self-sufficient.  So she couldn’t reach the top shelf in the fridge, or come face-to-face with a spider without screaming from the depths of her soul.  And sometimes when she had a nightmare she couldn’t walk to the bathroom by herself.  She really didn’t think it was fair to hold these things against her when her dad had no memory of them.  For all _Hook_ knew, she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself.  She’d found him, hadn’t she?  And Henry.  Grandma Snow was still unaccounted for, and Regina, and Neal, and—

The headcount wasn’t important.  It’d only been three days.  In any case, it was a safe assumption that she was already leaps and bounds beyond what Henry had accomplished in the same timeframe—not that she was keeping score.  But when this whole thing was over, they’d definitely have to compare notes, or battle scars, or whatever it was that people compared over pints at the pub.

Lunch with her parents had been just what she needed to restore her hope—not that she’d been discouraged.  Okay, maybe a little.  But in her defense, she couldn’t even tell her dad who her real mom was—wasn’t that the sort of thing adults kept secret from each other on soap operas?  Not that she watched soap operas.  Much.  ( _“Daddy, I have no idea how those got on the DVR.”  His arched brow rendered any further argument futile.)._

She’d chosen to give confidence a second change—they were going to break the curse and be a family again.  And nothing would convince her otherwise.  It was blue skies and sunshine from here on out.

Except for the rain, of course, which started out as a drizzle but was having every appearance of turning into a monsoon before sundown.

Grace was all apologies for the inclement weather and promises that she’d think of something they could do that would be better than riding lessons.

“I don’t see why we have to cancel.”  Said Beth.

“They’re probably closed, sweetie.”

“We could check…” Beth adopted her most persuasive puppy dog expression, complete with full pout.

Grace looked out at the horizon and said, “I guess a little rain never hurt anyone.”

 

—

 

“We’re closed.”  The woman behind the counter seemed bored.  ( _“Downright stroppy,” her dad might’ve said._ )  “You and your daughter can come back when the storm clears.”

“She’s not my mom.”  Said Beth, with a tad more disgust than she intended.

The woman turned her unhelpful gaze on Beth.  “We’re still closed.”

“That’s okay.”  Said Grace.  “Thank you for your time.”

Behind the clerk’s counter were two doors—one, as evidenced by the window depicting a dreary scene, led outside.  It was through this door that a man and woman entered, holding a coat over their heads.  They were laughing despite being sopping wet from head to toe.  And if Beth looked closely—

“Regina!”

She set aside the coat that’d failed in its duty.  “Do we know each other, dear?”  Her hair was longer than Beth had ever seen it, and done up in a braid.  Her face free of dark makeup, she looked younger—and maybe she was.  She dressed like a jockey from the races on TV that Grandpa David secretly bet on ( _“Remember, kiddo, this stays between us.  Not a word to Grandma.”_ ).

“We, um…” Beth’s words trailed off when she looked to the man who’d walked in with Regina.  As fit and handsome as ever, if a bit scruffier, and short one lion tattoo on his forearm.

Uncle Robin excused himself from their conversation, but not before winking at Regina, who—

Wait a minute.  Was Regina…blushing?  Not only blushing, but grinning like an idiot.

Beth was positive she’d now seen everything.

“Can I…talk to you?”  Beth’s question to Regina earned her curious glances from Grace and the clerk.

Regina seemed uncertain, her eyes darting in the direction of her husband—gods, did she even know they were married?

What sort of Regina was this, anyway?  The one who’d cast the Dark Curse?

No, there was too much kindness in her eyes.

“Is this about lessons?”  She asked.

“Yes.”  Beth lied.  “Yes, it is.”

“Oh.  Okay.  Come on back.”

Regina opened a portion of the counter—like a hobbit door—and ushered Beth through, to a hallway lined with offices on either side.

Beth waited until Grace was well out of range before tugging on Regina’s sleeve.  “You gotta help me.  That woman is trying to steal me.”

“What?”

“She’s my dad’s ex-girlfriend and she wants to get, I don’t know, revenge or something because…he…fell in love with…someone else.”

She didn’t look convinced and Beth didn’t blame her.  It’d been a spur of the moment story.  Maybe with proper time to plan, she could’ve come up with something better.

“Okay, so she’s not trying to steal me—but she may as well be.  She’s going to take me all over town while my dad’s at work so she can distract me with entertainment.  And all I want is to find my brother so he can remember who he is, and—”

Regina was smiling—and not the sort that said she thought Beth was about fifty cards short of a full deck, which would’ve been understandable.  “You remind me of someone.  Who are your parents?”

_This again._

Beth swore that wasn’t as common a question before everyone forgot who they were.  Now it seemed all anyone could ask.

“It’s a long story.  So can you help me ditch the sitter, or what?”

 

—

 

She didn’t think she’d been this nervous in all her life.  So she only had seven years to speak of where her dad had over three hundred, but still.

It’d been a whole thirty seconds since she’d knocked.  What was the suitable amount of time to wait before trying again?  If he wasn’t home, she didn’t know what she’d do—what did cursed Henry do in his spare time?  Besides dating evil sorceresses bent on destroying his entire family.

What if the witch answered?

The door opened and she held her breath, exhaling when she saw her brother standing on the other side.

“Beth.”  He looked over his shoulder before stepping outside and latching the door behind him.  “This is highly inappropriate.”

“I know, and I’m sorry, but I need your help.”

“With this…curse you claim has got hold of everyone?”

Beth adjusted her footing, summoning her courage.  “Okay, so sometimes I make up stories to get attention—my dad’s at his wit’s end with me.  Whatever that means.  I’m sorry I dragged you into it, I really am.”

Beth could tell he’d forgiven her even before he said, “What’s the favor?”

She held out the story book she’d picked up from Granny’s on the way over, the one she’d checked out from the library the previous day.  The same one her dad read to her when she longed to know more about her family’s origins.  “Hold this.”

He looked it over, reading the cover under his breath.  “Fairytales?”

Beth watched him go back and forth in his mind about the potentially detrimental effects this particular _help_ could have.  Finally, just as Beth was sure she’d go mad from waiting, he held out his hands.

She couldn’t quite explain what happened when the book made contact with his skin, except that it looked like her brother had received an electrical shock.  His eyes glossed over like he was locked in a trance.  When they refocused, he looked down at the story book and then at Beth, visibly shaken.

“Em?”

 

—

 

“Killian thinks he’s Hook again?”

“Remember all those times I wished I could see him in Pirate Mode?  I take it back.”

“It’s definitely a stark contrast.”  Henry moved his mug around in circles, searching the perimeter of their booth for prying eyes.  “And Mom?”

“She doesn’t remember any of us.”

“So you found her.”

Beth nodded.  “On the _Jolly Roger_ , just like she said.”

The ship had been harder to find than they’d assumed—and they hadn’t exactly thought it would be easy.  The witch had used a cloaking spell that her dad said was _“entirely too reminiscent of Cora,”_ for his taste.  It was left to Beth to try and sense her mom’s magic, which was difficult under normal circumstances, in places with such trace amounts of magic as Storybrooke—but the Enchanted Forest?

Her dad and Grandpa David had taken turns carrying her once she’d zeroed in on a point she thought might be Emma.  It was brighter than the rest, radiant and warm.  Beth had never exerted that much energy in her life—not when contacting Emma with the mirror, or making portals, or reducing horrible, wretched witches to dust.  By the time they found the _Jolly Roger_ , she could barely stand on her own—but she would’ve danced if Emma asked.  Just the sight of her—the real her—had the lot of them laughing and crying at the same time.

They’d agreed to wait an extra day before returning home, so that Beth could regain her strength.  But if she’d known what awaited them on the other side of the portal, she might never have left.

Terribly selfish, she knew, with Henry and the others under the witch’s curse.  But what she wouldn’t give for more untainted time with her parents.  That probably made her a horrible person, which was why she wasn’t about to say such things out loud.

“And she was okay?”

“We all were—Henry, I don’t know what happened.  I opened the portal and we all went through, but…something went wrong.”

“I’ll say.”  Henry raked his hand through his hair.

“What I can’t figure is why the witch has done all this.”

Henry scoffed.  “She waited for you to be in the Enchanted Forest—she lured you to Emma, all so she could, what?  Rewrite the Dark Curse?”

“Ugh, and you kissed her.”

Henry shot her a look that said, _“Could we not?”_

“Right.  Sorry.”

“So what’s the plan?”

“We’re halfway there.”  Beth sat up straighter, unable to contain her excitement at having come so far.  The book worked on Henry—no reason it shouldn’t work on others.  “We just have to go see Mom.”

Henry smiled.  “You’re much too clever for your own good, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told.”

“And you’ve got Killian on board with all this?  As Hook?”

“I…may have…bent the truth a little.  But he’s agreed to help.”

“That seems a little out of character.”  Henry tried to recover at what must’ve been a wounded expression on Beth’s part.  “For a Hook with no memories of Emma, that is.  I don’t mean to upset you, Em, but he wasn’t the most selfless person before he met Mom.”

“So you think he’s lying?”

“I think it’s wise to be cautious.”

Beth looked down, inching her own mug across the table.  “You don’t think he’d…hurt anyone.”

“Honestly, Em…I don’t know.  I wish I could say for sure that he wouldn’t, but if what you say is true, he isn’t your dad right now.”

“So Operation Second Breakfast failed before it began.”

Henry laughed.  “I’d say we’re well past Elevensies by now.”

At least Frodo and Sam knew who they were up against.  They were reminded at every turn that the ring was no trinket—might want to quit while it only had a taste.  Beth didn’t know who the witch was or what she wanted or why she’d hit UNDO on all the development Storybrooke had made since its inception.

But perhaps there was a way to find out.

“I think I have an idea.”

She took Henry’s hand and dragged him out of the diner before he had time to pay their tab.


	18. Chapter 18

_“I was hoping it’d be you.”  He smiled and she pretended not to be amused._

_“We’re going to meet our kid today.”_

_He exhaled a shaky breath.  “And that doesn’t terrify you?”_

_Emma smiled and the anxiety was lifted like a weight from his shoulders.  “Not this time.”_

_“Just who are you, Swan?”_

_“Wouldn’t you like to know?”_

_Their fingers touched when she returned his flask, and a spark of something—he didn’t quite know its name—further fueled his curiosity.  “Perhaps I would.”_

_“What are you thinking?”  His greedy hand roved every bare curve it could find, basking in the knowledge that this was real._

_She turned to him, engaging in soft explorations of her own.  “Seven years is too long.”_

_Astonishment seemed too simple a word for what washed over her.  She looked at him in a way he’d never imagined possible.  “You traded your ship for me?”_

_“Aye.”_

_“I’ve always liked Elizabeth for a girl.”_

_Killian ran his hand over her stomach, feeling a gentle kick.  “I think she approves.”_

_“Do you take this man to be your lawful wedded husband?”_

_She smiled without a shred of hesitation and said, “I do.”_

“Swan?”  It took every ounce of strength for him to step back.  When he did, it was no longer a tempting stranger standing before him, an obstacle to his happy ending, or a thorn in the side of a discontented queen.  It was Emma.

She linked her arms around his neck and reclaimed his lips—and he’d be damned if her hunger didn’t match his own.  Indeed, it would seem the sheriff’s station was primed for the same fate as his quarters aboard the _Jolly Roger_.

Scarcely had Beth succumbed to unconsciousness, nestled against Dave’s chest, when the two of them slipped away.  Such was their haste that only the minimal requirement of garments had been removed—Killian wasn’t completely confident they’d even locked the door.

Indeed, seven years was far too long.

_“So you never…” her words trailed off, but Killian inferred their meaning.  “I would understand.  I mean, for all you knew, you were single—”_

_“Call me old-fashioned, Swan.”_

_She smiled, running her fingers through his hair.  “I like the gray.”_

“Gods, I missed you.”  Killian spoke against her neck, interrupting the trail his mouth had followed from hers.

“Did I go somewhere?”

Breaking contact was the last thing he wanted—if this realm knew any mercy, he’d be spared the truth he feared was unavoidable.  Her eyes were laced with confusion; Killian searched them for any trace of hope.  “How long have we known each other?”

“Few days.”

_Bloody hell._

Was there no limit to the number of times he’d lose her?

Forcing a smile, he tucked a tuft of Emma’s hair behind her ear.  “I should go.”

“Is something wrong?”

He untangled his limbs from hers and took a step back.  “I’ve just remembered, Beth made me swear I’d return home at a considerably earlier hour tonight.”

“I see I’m not the only one who worries about you.”  She smiled, and with a light tug of his collar said, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

—

 

Killian zipped up his jacket, lifted the collar to cover his neck.  If the rain kept steady at this rate, Main Street would be flooded before dawn.  Good thing Granny’s wasn’t too far from the station, or he’d be a drowned rat by the time he arrived.

He could imagine Beth’s surprise at his news, and anticipation quickened his steps.  The curse was all but broken—he wondered if he should tell her at all, or if he should wait for his kiss on her cheek to wake the town.

He was so lost in his own excitement that he didn’t notice his pursuer until it was too late.  With a heavy sigh, he turned to see the witch, dry as the night was dark, wielding an umbrella the size of a small country.

“Your Majesty.  To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“You’ve been dragging your feet, Captain.”  In place of their previous red, her lips and nails and hair boasted a somber shade of blue.  “I thought you’d take my incentive a little more seriously.”

She’d really done a number on the town, hadn’t she?  And on Killian, more than most.  Returning him to his most villainous and love-starved self, and convincing him to kill the wife he couldn’t remember.  Not to mention passing herself off as a queen—naught but a common charlatan, to be sure.  He vowed then and there to find a way around the mutually beneficial deal she’d made with the Crocodile, and when he did, she’d rue the day she targeted his family.

But for now, he’d be wise to play along.

“I’m luring the Savior into a false sense of security.  Once I’ve gained her trust, she won’t know what hit her.”

“You better hope she doesn’t.”  The witch advanced, and gone was the exaggerated sway of her hips, the teasing tone from days prior.  She narrowed her eyes, inspected him from head to toe.  “Something’s different about you.”

Killian swallowed thickly, praying the truth wasn’t written on his face.  There was no telling the murderous rampage that was liable to ensue should she realize their agreement was null and void.

“Must be the girl.”  She purred with satisfaction.  “Yes, I know about your little stowaway—quite the scintillating twist, if you ask me.  Tread carefully there, Captain.  Wouldn’t want her to get caught in the crossfire.”

Killian clenched his jaw, biting back the threats forming in his mind.  “What is she to me?  Other than a nuisance.”

“I’m told she’s your daughter.”

“A minor technicality.”  Channeling his former self, he grinned maliciously.  “Rest assured, Emma Swan is as good as dead.”

The witch stroked his cheek with the backs of her fingers.  “You say the sweetest things.”  Placing a kiss on the opposite cheek, she whispered, “Until we meet again, Captain,” and disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

In taking up his previous route, he nearly collided with two figures he realized, with paralyzing horror, had overheard his exchange with the witch.  His daughter regarded him like the monster from her nightmares.

“Beth, sweetheart—”

“Henry was right.”  She said through trembling lips.  “You were lying the whole time.  You’re not my dad.”

“Love, let me explain—” But when he reached for her, she ran away.

 

—

 

She wasn’t at Granny’s.  Or the loft that was presently under new ownership—thankfully the occupants weren’t home at the time of Killian’s unceremonious entry.  The last place he thought to look was the place his evening had started.

Emma was at her desk, pencil between her teeth while she squinted at the computer screen.

“Swan?”  Killian stormed into her office.

Seeing him, she switched the writing implement to her hand, and smiled.  “Hey.  I thought you were done for the day.”

“Have you seen Beth?”

“She was just here, but she left.  I thought it was strange that she was with her teacher, but they said you’d okayed it, so—”

“Did they say where they were going?”

“No.”  Emma scooted her chair back.  “They just showed me some book and left.”

“Book?”  Killian’s heart skipped a beat.

_Bloody brilliant lass.  Of course._

“Yeah.”  Emma shrugged.  “A bunch of fairytales—she seemed pretty upset by it.”

“Did you touch it?”

Emma looked at him like he might’ve lost his senses, but like she also wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt.  “I skimmed through it.”  At his crestfallen expression, Emma stood, placed a consolatory hand on his arm—sometimes she was too much like her father for comfort.  “They’re just stories—why is everyone so worked up about them?”

“It isn’t the book, Love.”

Emma waited for him to elaborate, not removing her hand.

“I’m afraid I may have…said something Beth wasn’t supposed to hear.  It’s got her rather distraught.”  Of all the conversations, his daughter _had_ to overhear the one in which he called her a nuisance and pledged to off her mother in the same breath.  “I can’t find her anywhere.”

“You need some help?”  Stepping back to emphasize the badge at her hip, Emma said, “This thing’s been known to open more doors than a skeleton key.”

“Aye.”  Killian smiled.  “Thank you.”

 

—

 

They exhausted every probability they could think of—the library and the docks included—before arriving at the school, just to be absolutely sure they’d checked everywhere.

In another circumstance, Killian would’ve found it supremely suspect that the door with Miss Blanchard’s name on it was unlocked a full day after closing, but it was far from the strangest thing to happen in the last week—hardly stranger, in fact, than Mary Margaret teaching second grade.  She’d followed Henry through the ranks of his academic career and discovered a fondness for high school instruction.

He moved to a desk in the back row with the hope that not everything had been altered by the curse.  Opening it, he lifted the first assignment to meet his grasp and held it under the beam of the flashlight Emma had supplied him with.  Written in a sloppy script ( _“Honestly, Love, your penmanship is worse than your grandfather’s chicken scratch.”  “I heard that.”_ ), was his daughter’s name.  Setting it aside, he rummaged through the papers and pencils, art projects, opened glue sticks, peanut butter sandwich from two weeks ago—damned thing was more cluttered than her bedroom—and stopped at the feel of cold metal, closing his hand around the attachment he knew by touch.

Was there no security in this school that a seven year old was able to waltz in with a weapon of this caliber and no one was the wiser?  When this bloody curse was broken, Killian needed to remember to write a strongly worded letter to the schoolboard.

“Anything?”  Emma flashed her light at him from the doorway.

Killian secure the hook in his jacket—he’d never fully appreciated the usefulness of inside pockets until this moment.  “All clear.”

“Can you think of anywhere else she might go?”

 

—

 

The doors had been breached—were they at sea, and the mausoleum an enemy vessel of the King’s Royal Navy, he would have assumed the damage came by the barrel of a long nine.  But seeing as this was Mainland Storybrooke, there seemed only one explanation for their mangled forms.  The question was, Light or Dark?

“What is this place?”  Asked Emma as she followed him into the vault.

It didn’t appear as though anything had changed—every bottle, every handwritten, leather bound incantation in its place, save one.

“Eye of newt?  Seriously?”

Emma took a turn about the room while Killian directed his attention to a book lying open on its shelf, displaying a page that related to the Dark Curse.  At least, what he assumed to be such—his Elvish wasn’t what it used to be.  But what started as a cursory glance developed into an intent, unblinking gaze with every passage.

“Bloody hell.”  He whispered with a turn of the page.

“Whoever owns this place is one twisted sonofabitch.”  Emma came up behind him, peeking over his shoulder.  A cloud of dust engulfed them when Killian closed the spell book a tad too hard.  Once the fog cleared, Emma frowned at him.  “Did you know this was down here?”

“Aye.”

“So what are you, some kind of…wizard?”

Killian was far from a bantering mood.  And if Emma were her proper self, she’d appreciate the gravity of the situation.  But if what he’d just read was true, he didn’t know how he’d ever get her back.

“No.”  He studied her, wondering how much of his wife remained beyond the physical.  “Emma…” he began before he really knew where to start.  Thinking over their interactions from the past days, he saw her with fresh eyes.  She was less burdened than a cursed Emma should be, more generous with her smile.  Emma from the era of the original Dark Curse would’ve turned tail and run after kissing him.  She would’ve hidden behind her walls and sworn it hadn’t meant anything ( _“It was just a kiss.”_ ).  “What can you tell me about a man named Neal Cassidy?”

Her eyes were vacant beyond their mounting confusion.  “Who?”

“You don’t remember him?”

“Name doesn’t ring a bell—he owe you money or something?”

“You met in Portland when you were a teenager—”

“I’ve never been to Portland.”

“And you were forced to serve a sentence for a crime you didn’t commit—”

She took a step back.  “How do you know about that?  Those records are sealed.”  She shook her head, laughing without humor.  “Open book, huh?  Have you been checking up on me?  Did you bring me down here for some kind of ambush?”

“The child you gave up for adoption—”

“What child?”  Emma’s voice rose with every question asked.  “What the hell is this?  How does any of this help us find your kid?”

“By telling us what she was looking for.”

“In some _evil lair_ under a cemetery?”

“It’s a long story.”  Killian walked past her, to the flight of stairs leading to higher ground.  “Too long for now.”

Before the first step was cleared, Emma pulled him back by the arm.  “Not so fast—”

“We’re wasting time.  If I’m right, our destination lies at the west end of the woods—”

“I’m not going anywhere with you until I get some answers.”

Killian tempered his frustration, knowing that none of this was Emma’s fault—but he’d be damned if her very proximity wasn’t driving him mad with vengeful impulses.  He only hoped that sodding bloody sorceress bled like the rest of them—it’d been a good long while since his hook had tasted flesh.

“Well?”

One thing he knew for certain: no matter the curse that befell Emma, she was a bloody marvel.  “There’s something I haven’t told you about my wife.”

“I’m not sure that’s relevant right now.”

“She was the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met.  But she was also the most compassionate.  She gave second chances to the least deserving of us all.”  Emma’s expression softened as he spoke.  “She saved me.  By reminding me of the man I wanted to be, and I promised to spend the rest of my days proving that her affections weren’t wasted on a miserable scoundrel like me.”  Slowly, Killian reached his hand forward to cradle her cheek.  “When confronted with the truth, she had a habit of running.  I fear she’ll run from me now, if I reveal it to her.”

Emma’s voice was small, nigh on a whisper.  “I thought you said she was dead.”

“Aye.  That she was.”

For a brief and bittersweet moment, he was transported to another time, another realm, to a vow he hadn’t known was on his lips until she’d kissed him.

_“When I win your heart, Emma—and I will win it…”_

Then she fluttered her lashes and turned away.  “You’re right, we’re wasting time.”


	19. Chapter 19

“It doesn’t work.  I already tried.”

“How hard did you try?”

“You think I’m faking it?”

“I think you’re more like Mom than you realize.”

Beth frowned.  Usually she’d take this as a compliment, but under present conditions, it felt the furthest thing from praise.

“And I think you blame yourself for things being messed up.”

_Because it’s my fault._

She couldn’t even save Emma, not really.  They’d taken her the book, after moving as fast and as far as they possibly could to outrun the pirate currently wearing her dad’s skin.  And nothing.  No jolt of recollection.  No stupefied expression while the years of her life came rushing in like a flood.  She’d skimmed through the pages like it was any ordinary object.

“You didn’t cast the curse, Em.”

“I may as well have.  I should’ve known she wasn’t dead.”

No villains were ever dead.  Not permanently.  How many times did Maleficent come back, and Henry’s Grandpa Rumple—not to mention the whole Zelena debacle.  Did Beth really think she was so extraordinary that she’d succeeded where her predecessors failed?  That she’d taken down an evil sorceress all on her own?  And at only seven years, too.

_Pathetic._

“It’s not your responsibility to protect everyone.”

“Isn’t it?”

Henry stepped around to face her, taking to his knee and grasping her by both arms.  “Absolutely not.  Em, you’re just a kid—an exceptional one, but a kid all the same.  Accepting your limitations isn’t the same as being weak.  No one could’ve known what the witch had planned.  Not me, not Killian.  It’s okay, Em.  We’re gonna make it out of this.  Someday it’ll be just another story added to the book—how the daughter of the Savior and Captain Hook rescued all of Storybrooke.”

Beth whispered, “How do you know?”

Henry smiled, giving each arm a gentle squeeze.  “Like you said, I’m the Truest Believer.  It’s my job.”  He tucked his hand under her chin, wiped her cheek with the pad of his thumb.

Beth leapt forward, wrapping her arms so tightly around her brother that he feigned choking.

“Can’t.  Breathe.”

She smiled despite the want to cry.  “I love you, Henry.”

She kissed his cheek, something she’d done a thousand times in her life, but never when a curse was in place.  The power that erupted struck with enough force to nearly topple them to the ground.  Beth thought her heart might shatter into a million pieces from sheer fullness of affection.  And suddenly, she was overcome with a greater sense of hope than she’d ever known.

She broke their hug to look at Henry.  “Was that…?”

He laughed, taking her up in his arms and spinning her round.  “Em, you did it!”

When he set her on her feet, Beth said, “We should still check the vault.  I’m not letting the witch get ahead of us again.

 

—

 

The lock hadn’t been as complicated as Beth had assumed—a simple flick of her wrist and the doors exploded apart as though fired upon by a cannon.  The real trouble came when trying to locate clues amidst Regina’s _magical relics_ , as her dad called them.

Beth’s heart sank momentarily.  _“What is she to me?  Other than a nuisance.”_

But she pressed on, determined not to let something Hook said rattle her.  Besides, he was probably awake now, thanks to her and Henry.  His words, hurtful though they were, would soon be a distant memory.

All that was left was to defeat the witch, once and for all.

Beth perused the bookshelf while Henry inspected secret hatches and trapdoors anyone who wasn’t Regina’s son wouldn’t know about.  She was about to move on to potions when she came across a heading titled: PRESERVING THE DARK CURSE.  And a subset that included: _How to Eliminate the Threat of a Savior._

There were scribbles and handwritten notes and arrows leading to smaller, more difficult to distinguish scribbles.  It looked more like a journal than one of Regina’s spell books.  Beth flipped the page to find a map of—

“The Black Forest.”

_Wonderland._

“Find anything, Em?”  Henry wiped the dust from his hands onto his jeans.  “Nothing on my end, just some old chests.  I forgot my mom used to have so many snakes—judging by their decay, she forgot, too.  Em?  What’s wrong?”

Swallowing thickly, she turned the book toward him.  “Mom was never cursed.”

“What?”  Henry hurried to her side.

“Not like the rest of you.”

He read through Beth’s discovery and the look he gave her did little to quiet her fears.  “That’s not our only problem.”  He said.  “I know this handwriting, and it doesn’t belong to any witch.”

 

—

 

Normally, she would’ve put on a brave face and denied the all-consuming terror raging like a tempest in her chest.  Normally, she would’ve refused such a juvenile display and insisted she was much too grownup to be coddled.  But this day was anything but normal, and Beth latched onto Henry’s hand like it was the only thing keeping her on the ground.

She had newfound respect for her parents—for her entire family.  She’d begun to notice a horrible pattern with this latest villain: One step forward, fifteen back.  From what she knew of her family’s every adventure, this was how it had always been.  But they never gave up, and neither could she.

But gods, she was tired.

She’d thought that the curse was the only thing standing in the way of victory.  But now…

Now they had a whole new set of problems to contend with.  And Beth didn’t know if she had the strength.

If they failed, Emma would never recover.  Her memories would vanish forever, good and bad alike.  Every trace of her personality would be erased, and she’d be nothing more than an empty shell, wandering the Earth with no idea why.  And if the scribbles in the journal were true, the witch had spent the last seven years draining Emma of magic, so that even if she remembered who she was, she’d have no way of defending herself.  Or anyone else.

The revelation broke Beth’s heart beyond anything she’d ever experienced.

She tightened her hold on Henry’s hand, grateful that she wasn’t alone.

As they exited the mausoleum—indeed, the very instant their feet touched earth, the ground began to quake.  The rain ceased and the sky opened, clouds whirling like a vortex overhead.  Their path was impeded by a woman with faded blue hair, almost gray.  She was the spitting image of every cartoon villain ever when confronted with the threat of defeat.  Snarl at her lips like a feral beast, eyes bloodshot, nostrils flared—all that was missing was steam shooting out from her ears.

“Em, run!”  Henry commanded, and Beth obeyed without a second thought to slow her efforts.

But she wasn’t fast enough.  She nearly collided with a cloaked figure that had no face, and when she tried to escape him, he blocked her way again.  Everywhere she turned, he stood as a ghoulish barricade, trapping her in place.

The witch had Henry by the throat in an invisible chokehold.  Before Beth could repay the demon’s magic with her own, the cemetery was consumed by purple smoke.

 

—

 

She awoke in a place that was familiar for all the wrong reasons, shivering for the chill in her bones, and the heavy weight of Dark magic surrounding her.  Not a single spec of Light for miles.

“Didn’t your mother tell you?”  The witch sat at the opposite end of a cavernous chamber, inspecting her appearance in a large round mirror.  “It isn’t polite to go through people’s things.”  She looked over her shoulder, exaggerating a pout.  “Oh, that’s right.  You never had a mother.”  Seeming to have reigned in her fury in the time that Beth was unconscious, she crossed the room with a leisurely stride, advancing on the child, who was propped against a wall of stone.  “I suppose you think you’re terribly clever.  No doubt you think you’ve won, now you’ve _cracked the case_ , as it were.  But, darling, the day I’m beaten by some snot-faced urchin is the day I retire, outright.”

Beth tried to move, only to find her wrists had been bound behind her back.  “I know you rewrote the Dark Curse.  You made everyone some weird version of themselves.”

“I did this town a favor.  I took away their pain.”

“You stole their identities.”

The witch studied Beth, cocking her head to one side.  “Tell me, darling—how did it feel when your own father dismissed you as a hindrance to his happy ending with a woman who isn’t Emma?  Hm?”

Beth clenched her jaw, refusing to answer.  Refusing to let the memory get the better of her.

“What if I told you I could take that moment away?  That you could live your life as though it’d never happened?  You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”  When Beth didn’t respond, the witch knelt down in front of her.  “Don’t you see?  That’s what I did for the others.  They were their most contented, unburdened selves.  And you took that away from them.  You brought back their misery because you couldn’t leave well enough alone.”  The witch took a deep breath to calm the ire creeping into her tone.  “Now tell me, Elizabeth, how far are you willing to go to save your mother?  Hm?”  She caressed Beth’s cheek, her fingers colder than ice.  “You’d do anything to have her back, wouldn’t you?”

“What do you want me to do?”

The witch smiled, the teeth that were pristine only days ago, now showing signs of neglect.  “Are you aware that your mother was once tempted by great darkness?  She resisted, of course.  But you—I’ve a feeling you’d make a superlative villain.  You may be the Product of True Love twice over, but evil is in your blood, dearie.”

“Shows how much you know.”  Beth grumbled.

“Where do you think all those stories came from?  Your father didn’t earn his reputation by kissing puppies.”

“He changed.  He’s a hero.”

“Mm…deep down, you know the truth, Elizabeth.  You know villains never truly change—they get good at faking it.  But once you’ve had a taste for vengeance, you’re never quite satisfied.”

“You’re wrong.”

“I didn’t want to have to do this.”  The witch frowned.  “But you’ve left me no choice.”

Returning to the oversized mirror, the she touched her hand to its surface, pulling away once an image appeared inside its frame.  Like a window to another world.  Another time.

Walking along the street of a port town, clad in black leather from head to toe, except for a red vest, and in possession of two hands, was Beth’s dad.  He laughed with men—from his crew, she assumed—until he was bumped by a beggar passing by.

“You, stop!  Even gutter rats have more manners than you just displayed.”

The beggar apologized, and in turning, revealed a partial view of his face.

“Ah, I was wrong.”  Said Killian.  “Not a rat at all—more…more like a crocodile.”

The crewmen laughed, and Killian was well pleased with himself.  He knocked the cup of coins from the beggar’s hand and kicked him onto the ground when he tried to retrieve them.

“What is this?”  Asked Beth.

“I’m showing you where you came from, darling.”  Said the witch.  “What’s inside you.”

The scene changed to a cloaked figure ascending a spiral staircase, wielding a bucket.  Only after he slayed a guard with his hook was his face revealed.  He stepped over the guard’s body and took the keys from the man’s belt, entering the prisoner’s cell with a mask of concern.

“You must be Belle.”

He pretended to be there for the purpose of rescue, but when Belle swore never to betray Rumpelstiltskin, Hook employed brute force to render her unconscious.  “So pretty.  Yet so useless.”

“The time for making deals is done.”  He said to Emma, locked in a cell of her own, with horrible jagged bars, like a mythical creature’s teeth.  “Just as I am done, with you.”

Gunfire propelled Belle across the town line, into Mr. Gold’s arms.

“No, no, no, no…”

“Fear not,” said Hook, still aiming his weapon, “she’ll live.  She’ll just have no idea who _you_ are.”

Distraught, Gold said, “What you’ve done cannot be undone.”

“Well, now you’re finding out how it feels!”  Hook held his arms out at his sides.  “Well, go ahead, Crocodile—do your worst!”

He shoved Emma out of the way and bounded upon Mr. Gold like a man possessed.  “You took Milah—my love, my happiness.”  Beth didn’t recognize the man growling these words.  His face twisted with malice.  Dark and…and _evil_.  “And for that, I now take your life.”

Unable to withstand a second more, Beth cried, “Stop it!  I’ll do anything, I swear, just…” she fought to hold back a sob, and failed.  “Just…make it stop.”

The witch smirked as she returned the mirror to its reflective state.  “There’s no need to make such a fuss, little one.”  She stalked toward Beth and crouched over her.  Then, with a wave of her hand, her once empty palm offered an apple, red as blood.  “All you have to do is _take a bite_.”

“And you’ll fix my mom?  You’ll give her back her memories?”

“Mm…” the witch purred, “I cross my heart.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this update took forever-I didn't mean to leave you guys hanging so long. Hopefully the next chapter will come sooner :)

For the first time since his heart was changed, since he’d been transformed by True Love, since the woman he still had trouble believing ever saw goodness lurking behind his arrogant façade had returned him to the best version of himself, Killian Jones was driven by pure, unadulterated bloodlust.

The witch had separated him from his wife, but worse than this, she’d separated Emma from another child.  She’d made Emma’s greatest fear come true.  The one that still plagued her with every glance upon Henry’s face.  It was a cunning terror that started small, masking itself in the simplest of phrases: _If only..._

_If only I’d kept him.  If only I’d stayed._

It grew and it changed its shape until all a person knew were sleepless nights steeped in the shadows of an unwritten age.

_Things could’ve been different.  We could’ve been together.  We could’ve been happy._

She didn’t like sharing these things with Killian—she didn’t want him to think she’d trade the life they’d built for one in which they’d never met.  Indeed, she’d hold out telling him until she could no longer bear the nightmares on her own.  And by the time she did share, she was a wreck of sobs and trembling limbs and incoherent speech.

Beth had been her second chance.  A child she wouldn’t disappoint.  And the witch had stolen it from her, as surely as she’d stolen Emma’s magic, her memories—to what end, Killian couldn’t guess.  But one thing he knew with absolute certainty: she’d be made to suffer for her interference in their lives.

Killian looked over at Emma, trudging through the mud alongside him, and though it might break his heart to hear, he needed to know the full extent of her amnesic state.

“If you don’t remember Neal, who is it you think left you in jail?”

Emma frowned.  “I’ve never been in jail.”

Killian touched her arm before stopping in his tracks, and she turned to face his inquiry.  “Back at the mausoleum, you said…”

“What?”  Her face was free of all expression.

“How long were you in the foster system?”

“I don’t know where you’ve been getting your information, but I was never in the foster system.”

“You weren’t abandoned as an infant?”

“No.”

“What do you remember about your past?  Where you grew up, who your parents are—anything.”

“Why do you want to know about my parents?  Why are you asking me so many questions when we’re…we were…” she looked at their surroundings.  “Weren’t we going…somewhere?”

Killian decided on a different tack, seeing as his present course was getting him nowhere except nearer the vengeful nature he’d fought so hard to overcome.  “I know you can’t remember your life, Emma, but I can help you.  If you trust me.”

She waited with hands on hips, in the fashion to which her father was prone when delivering a lecture.

“I’ve told you my wife was stubborn, but it wasn’t without cause.  She had rather a difficult upbringing, to say the least.  Abandonment as a child, years in a system meant to protect her but one that only worsened the loneliness characteristic of many a lost child.  She had a son, Henry, when she was eighteen.”  Killian searched Emma’s eyes for any hint of recognition.  When nothing sparked, he continued, “Believing herself unfit to raise him on her own, having been betrayed by everyone she’d loved or ever could have loved, she gave him away.”

Emma swallowed thickly.  “What does this have to do with me?”

“You’re a lot like her, Swan.  She saw me at my darkest, and even then, she recognized a part of herself.  No matter my misdeeds, she chose to see the best in me, always.  There’s no telling where I’d be without her.”

To think, all the years he’d spent searching for the Dark One’s dagger, knowing it to be the only weapon capable of killing him—had Killian obtained it, had he used it as he’d planned…

A shudder passed through him at the thought.

“She gave me a daughter, Beth.”  Again, he braced himself for even the smallest indication that this name meant anything to her.  “But in doing so, she was taken from me—complications from childbirth, we’d been told.”  He stepped closer to Emma and took it as a good sign that she didn’t back away.  “Only it wasn’t true.  She was taken, yes, but not by death.  By someone who intended her harm.  For seven years, she was the captive of a madwoman bent on torture.”

“I don’t want to talk about this.”  Emma turned away and began ascending the hill just shy of the sorceress’ mansion.

Killian followed after her.  “Does it upset you?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“You’re trying to upset me?”

“I’m trying to help you hold on.”

“To _what_?”

“Emma…” Killian came to a halt, and Emma faced him.

The look in her eyes made his struggle seem pointless.  Like he was fighting a losing battle and no matter his efforts, he couldn’t keep her from slipping away.  Soon she would forget him too, more than she’d already done.  So he took a final leap of faith and pulled her forward.

She didn’t protest—on the contrary, she melted against him with a satisfied sigh.

When Killian broke contact, Emma wore a familiar expression—the tilt of her head, the subtle narrowing of her eyes.  He was taken back in time, to the moment he’d shown up at her door in New York after a year spent apart.  Her hand moved through his hair, along his jaw, resting finally at his chin.  She smiled sweetly and said, “Do I know you?”

“Aren’t you two adorable?”  A third voice encroached upon the moment; callus and cold, it sent a shiver down Killian’s spine.  She was dressed entirely in black with dark makeup around her eyes and a snarl at her mouth, looking every bit the pirate Killian once had been.  “What’s the matter, Daddy?  Don’t you like my outfit?”

A figure appeared at Beth’s side to drape an arm around her shoulder.  “Let’s show your parents a warm welcome, shall we?”

“With pleasure,” said Beth as a fistful of fire formed in each hand.

 

—

 

“Swan!”

She landed at Killian’s side behind a broad-trunked tree—not that Killian expected much in the way of protection, given the relationship between fire and wood.

“I don’t understand what’s happening.  Why is that little girl so angry?”

“It’s a long story.”  Killian covered Emma’s head when a line of trees to their left erupted in a cloud of ash.  “Have you got your phone, Love?”

Emma reached into her back pocket and handed the device to Killian before clutching onto him for dear life.

She answered on the third ring.  “Is this Regina Mills?”  With the forest being turned to kindling around them, Killian couldn’t help shouting.  “You don’t know me, but—”

“Killian?”

“You’re awake.”

“The whole town is—and they’re none too pleased with being cursed.  Again.  What number are we up to now?”

“There’s no time for that—I need you to find the Dark One and the fairies, anyone with a modicum of magic, and meet us outside the witch’s lair straightaway.”

“You’ve got the bitch cornered?”

“The other way around, I’m afraid.  Regina, she’s got Beth and, I’m assuming, Henry.”

“We’ll be right there.”

The line went dead and it was then that Killian noticed Emma shaking like a leaf, holding fast to his lapels.

“Did you say…magic?”  Her voice was as unsteady as the rest of her.

“Aye, Love.  It’s a long story.”

“You keep saying that.”

Killian ran his hand in a soothing motion along her arm, knowing her panic would only grow with every memory lost.  “Stay with me, Love.”

The assault came to a sudden stop and Killian stilled, waited, listened.  But it was without warning and without sound that his daughter—some version of his daughter—appeared in front of the place he and Emma huddled together.

“You’re not having any fun, are you?”  The child frowned, looking them over.  “Hm.  Let’s see if we can’t fix that.”  With a twist of her wrist, she held her hand up to her lips and blew a haze of shimmering mist at Emma, whose grip on Killian came undone, her head falling back, eyes closed.

“No,” Killian shook her, “Emma?  Emma, Love, wake up.”  He tapped her cheek, finding it cold as ice, the color all but drained completely.  “What have you done?”

Beth smiled sweetly, the very portrait of innocence.  “I’ve taken care of her, Daddy.  After all, she’s the reason for all our trouble.  She’s the reason the town was cursed, the reason we were separated.  But now we can be together.  You want to be a family again, don’t you, Daddy?”

“What you’ve done…” he blinked back tears, cradling Emma’s head in his hand, “it can’t be undone.”

“Well, I’d say, now you’re finding out how it feels.”

“What…” he narrowed his eyes at Beth, “…what did you say?”

“Your one True Love gone in an instant—that _is_ what you said to Rumpelstiltskin, isn’t it?  Now you’re even.”

“How do you know that?”

“I made a new friend.  You’d be so proud of me.”

“What…friend, Love?”

“Well, I don’t know her name, but she showed me things.  Like how you were dreadfully mean to poor old Rumple.”

In that moment, Killian was struck by revelation, and he saw the past through fresh eyes.

_“What I’ve just given you should ensure your survival during the pregnancy.”_

_“And after?”  Asked Killian._

_“That…” he paused, his face creasing with a wicked grin, “…is up to fate, now isn’t it?”_

“Don’t you see, Daddy?  The curse was the perfect reset.  Everyone was returned to their most blissful selves, before they made the decisions that forced a divergence from their intended paths.  Except you.  And Mom, of course.”  Beth looked at Emma without a shred of remorse, or affection—surely he’d seen greater sympathy in the eyes of strangers.  “But she’s no longer an issue.”

_The demon was on his back and Killian crouching over him, lining up his next assault, before awareness caught up with him.  It was Emma’s grip on his arm, anchoring him, her voice in his ear, calling on his humanity._

_Killian leaned forward to growl in his ear.  “This isn’t over, Crocodile.”_

_“I’d tread carefully, if I were you,_ Captain _.”_

_“Must be the girl.”  She purred with satisfaction.  “Yes, I know about your little stowaway—quite the scintillating twist, if you ask me.  Tread carefully there, Captain.  Wouldn’t want her to get caught in the crossfire.”_

“You know, I’ve been thinking, maybe my new friend did us a favor by taking Emma away—I mean, what sort of mother would she have been?  Always chasing after monsters and attracting the worst kinds of villains.  Her lifestyle was hardly conducive to a healthy home life.  I doubt she’d even let me get a Dalmatian—and you know how much I’ve always wanted one.”

Killian studied his daughter in an attempt to deduce whether he’d heard correctly, or if wishful thinking had gotten the better of him.  Then, as though to relieve him of his confusion, Beth winked.

_Bloody brilliant lass._

It was a code they’d developed a few months back.  Their family being what it was, there were few secrets that existed at the loft, and sometimes Killian and Beth grew weary of the constant openness.  Sometimes they wanted things that stayed just between them.  And so they decided upon a seemingly innocuous term to signify the need for a private rendezvous.

_“What about Pegasus?”  Killian frowned before he could stop himself, and Beth’s cheeks flushed.  “Oh, Daddy, I’m sorry—I forgot.”_

_“Not to worry, Love.  What about…codfish?  You’ve an affinity for that word, haven’t you?”_

_Beth laughed the sort of laugh that showed a person’s every tooth._

_“Perhaps not.  It should, of course, be something serious.”  Killian mock frowned at Beth, whose giggle rang out once more._

_“It has to sound_ normal _.  Like if I said Albuquerque in front of Grandpa, he’d know something was up.”_

_The two of them fell silent, each conducting a survey of words that wouldn’t sound out-of-place amidst casual conversation._

_“I know.”  Beth sat up straight.  “Dalmatian.  I could say, ‘I saw the prettiest Dalmatian in the park today,’ or, ‘Daddy, what was Pongo again?’”_

_Killian smiled.  “I think that’s a perfect code word, Love.”  He held up his hand, littlest finger extended, and Beth curled hers around it in a binding pact._

So it was a warning, then?  Alerting him to Gold’s involvement?

Or had the lass truly wanted a dog all this time?

“What’s the Crocodile’s part in this?”

“Well, he couldn’t just sit idly by while you had your happy ending, now could he?  Not after you’d stolen from him.”

_The sodding imp.  Still thinking that a wife can be_ stolen _._

This time, Killian wouldn’t make the mistake of letting him live.

“I see he’s as much a coward as ever.”  Killian clenched his jaw.  “Show yourself, demon, and let’s end this!  Or will you continue communicating through a child?”

When nothing happened, not even a whip of wind to disturb the quiet of a newly decimated wood, Beth advanced upon him. “He isn’t here, silly.  Not really.”

“But he is well represented.”  The witch emerged from what was left of the thicket, inspecting her nails as she walked—indeed, she couldn’t have appeared more bored if she’d tried.  “Elizabeth, darling, it’s getting late.  Do wrap up your monologuing, adorable as it is, and put Daddy to sleep.”

With a wicked grin that had Killian questioning which side Beth intended to trick, the child repeated the action that’d produced the dust used on Emma, and held her hand up to her mouth.  Killian braced himself when she took a deep breath, but at the last moment, she turned, unleashing the spell on the sorceress standing by.

The witch didn’t faint.  She waved away the particles, a fit of coughing being the worst of its effects.  When the fog cleared, the witch bounded forward and sank her hand deep inside the child’s chest.

“No!”  Killian was on his feet in an instant, but the witch blasted him back, suspending him against the broad-trunked tree by invisible force.

“You sly little viper.”  She hissed at Beth.  Then her eyes widened and she removed her hand, devoid of the heart she’d expected to find.  Expected to crush.  Her second attempt yielded the same result, and she howled unto a sky blanketed by smoke.  “I’m going to gut your entire family like a school of fish.  And you’re going to watch, helpless, as every last one of them begs for mer—” The witch gasped, clutching her own chest with both hands, wincing and panting and falling to her knees.

Her hold on Killian now broken, he tumbled to the Earth, in a similar if less aggressive struggle for breath.  “Are you doing that?”

Beth shook her head, not taking her eyes from the sorceress.

“Help…me…” she clawed at her throat, at her garments, at the air itself, overtaken by panic the likes of which Killian had never seen.

What was once only a pale flesh tone turned gray, trenches spread across her features like cracks in a mirror, and her skin, once taut, began to sag, first under her eyes and then along her neck and hands.  Hair turned white, eyes streaked with red, the witch appeared to have aged a hundred years in a matter of moments.  Then she crumpled like a withered branch.  The branch became dust, and the dust scattered itself to the wind, come solely for this moment, and then it too was gone.

“What just happened?”  Said Beth.

“ _That_ is an excellent question.”  The Crocodile’s approach was unhurried as he wiped the remnants of what Killian could only guess was the witch’s heart from his hands.  His gaze locked on Beth and his cavalier grin fell away.  “I’d say, by the looks of things, _someone_ just couldn’t leave well enough alone.”


End file.
